


'I cannot see the path. Perhaps there is only abyss.' - Canticle of Trials (The Fifth Blight)

by Shikaree



Series: 'I cannot see the path. Perhaps there is only abyss.' - Canticle of Trials [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Modern Woman in Thedas, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Work In Progress, some nsfw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2018-12-04 04:37:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 40,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11547615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shikaree/pseuds/Shikaree
Summary: Fay Tanner remains burdened with the responsibility of saving a world she hardly knows, sent back to alter the past in the hope of saving the future. The emotional hurts she carried with her to Thedas are replaced by new ones, and the main focus driving Fay on is the knowledge that her daughter awaits her- if she is successful. She will not forget, not this time, but can she reclaim all that she has lost?





	1. Chapter 1

Twigs snapped and bushes rustled. Fay spun around, reaching for her mace and shield, only to find that they were gone. She could make out men’s voices, getting louder on their approach to her position. Bandits? Templars? Venatori – did they even exist now? Fay ducked down behind a nearby tree trunk, hoping she was low enough to stay out of sight. Maybe they wouldn’t notice her and would just carry on their way.

“… why the blood couldn’t have been gotten sooner? Like, before our arrival” one man was moaning.

“Because, Ser Jory, as Duncan explained, it needs to be fresh.”

Wait. That voice; that tongue-in-cheek and smooth tone. She _knew_ that voice. 

“And it’s all part of this cloak and dagger trial” another man added.

“The Grey Wardens really want two cowards like this making up their number?”

The fourth voice was deep and gruff like Blackwall’s. Blackwall, Fay thought, when did he become a Warden- did he fight at Ostagar during the blight? She couldn’t recall. He’d mentioned killing his ‘fair share’ of darkspawn, though that meant nothing given killing darkspawn was a Grey Warden’s popular past-time- along with playing cards, drinking, and whittling things out of wood, apparently.

“I wonder, Duran, I really do” the familiar voice answered.

“Charming. You hear that Ser Jory? They’re calling us cowards.”

“Then stop your blathering and just do what must be done.”

The party of four broke through the thicket and stepped into the small clearing Fay had appeared in after entering the eluvian. She had a good view of them from where she crouched: Three men and a dwarf. Fay shot to her feet, driven by the elation of her surprise, and they froze as statues, staring at her with their mouths agape.

“Alistair?!”

Fay clamped her hand over her mouth and groaned. What was it about that man, the Warden who would become king, which meant she had little to no control over herself? The younger version of Alistair was still just as adorable as when she had met him in Redcliffe, _kissed_ him at Redcliffe, but that wasn’t exactly the best opening gambit to a man she hadn’t technically spoken to yet. Think of something. Anything.

“Do I… err… do I know you?” Alistair asked, his expression equally worried as it was confused.

“Oh. No. I just- my brother mentioned the Grey Wardens were looking for recruits for the upcoming battle. He said to find Alistair, or Duncan?”

It wasn’t the most convincing fib she’d told, but then she did always hate lying. The next ten years were going to be abysmal. Ten years…

“And you want to join us” Alistair said with sarcasm.

“Actually, yes.”

The dwarf snorted and shook his head. “The lass is mad.”

“A little” she replied. Hell, what she’d been put through probably had made her a bit crazy. She was seriously having doubts about her remaining sanity- she’d agreed to do this, after all.

One of the men narrowed his eyes at her and scowled. “Just what are you doing alone, and unarmed, in a wood infested with darkspawn?”

At least Flemeth hadn’t dropped her somewhere that was swarming with the monsters.

“I got lost” she said weakly. “But, I’d gladly join you for… whatever it is you’re doing. Then you can see if there’s any merit to my desire to join the Wardens.”

Alistair nodded slowly, clearly at a loss. “Uh, sure. Daveth, give her one of your daggers, will you?”

Daveth threw his hands up in defeat. “They’re all lunatics, the wardens. Every last one. She could be a Chasind wilder, and you want me to give her a weapon? Maker. On your head be it, if she slits your throat, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Fay took the proffered dagger from Daveth and grimaced. “I’m used to fighting with a mace and shield- not sure how much help I’ll be with this to be honest.”

The dwarf gave her a stern glare. “You wanted to prove your worth, so you’ll make do. Can we get on with this already? Daylight’s wasting.”

Alistair scratched at his head. “So, you seem to have guessed who I am, somehow, but you haven’t told me your name.”

“Oh, of course. I’m Fay, and the others?”

“This bumbling knight from Redcliffe is Ser Jory” Alistair said introducing them, pointing to each in turn. “The moaning fishwife is Daveth, and the cheerful dwarf is Duran.”

“Pleased to meet you.”

“Yes, lovely. Now can we move?” Duran complained.

Alistair sighed and rolled his eyes at the dwarf, beckoning for Fay to fall in with them as he took the lead. Fay could see the tautness of his neck muscles and the way his shoulders were tensed. Did Alistair really expect her to stab him in the back- was this a test? It didn’t seem a very well thought out one if that was the case. Was he that confident of his abilities in his youth, or very naive?

“What is it that you’re doing exactly?” she whispered to Ser Jory.

The knight shrugged. “Killing darkspawn for their blood, though they won’t tell us why it’s required for the ritual.”

“And now we’ll need another one” Daveth whined.

Fay didn’t remember these men being mentioned in the history books along with the Hero of Ferelden. Did something terrible happen to them during the battle? As irritating as they both seemed on first meeting, the thought that there was potentially something catastrophic ahead for them made her sad. Alistair was crowned, and Duran slew the archdemon before, so what did that make her in all this? Flemeth had specified the archdemon had to die by her hand, and that would mean taking Duran’s place to be… oh, no, no, no. She would not be taking on another fucking title after getting rid of two.

Alistair halted and held up one finger, motioning left and then right. Fay guessed he was signaling for them to split up and flank on either side. There were darkspawn ahead, a prickling itch starting at the back of her neck confirming the hunch. There would be no camping on top of a crumbling tower to escape the foul things, or a wall of fire from Dorian to send them screeching into the night. The guilt of not saying goodbye to her friends weighed on her, and Fay swallowed a lump in her throat as she followed Duran left. Clutching the small dagger, she called on the relium to protect and boost her in battle.

Alistair whistled, banging his sword on his shield. “Hey! You- you ugly lot, over here!”

Fay would have laughed, Alistair _really_ was no good with insults, but she knew better than to draw their enemies’ attention too soon. She was already off to a shaky start, and she didn’t want to endanger the next decade before it had even begun. The genlock horde raced to Alistair, his boyish features hardening with repulsion and concentration, and Ser Jory and Daveth burst out from cover opposite her and Duran. They took the cue to join the fray, Duran leaping at the nearest genlock with a ululating war cry.

The fight was over quickly, Alistair managing to keep the darkspawn’s focus as the rest of them cut them down. Months of training and fighting all manner of things and people in Thedas that wanted to kill her as the Herald- and then as the Inquisitor - helped Fay to stand her ground with just the borrowed dagger and strength afforded by the relium. Daveth was nominated to collect the blood into vials, an unenviable job that he carried out under protest, and Alistair sidled up to Fay as they waited for him to complete the task.

“You _felt_ strange, during that fight” Alistair said with suspicion. “Are you… are you a mage?”

“Kind of, I suppose?” Fay replied off-hand.

Alistair cast her a ponderous look, and then walked silently back to where Ser Jory and Duran were cleaning their weapons. Fabulous. She really should have thought about how she was going to handle this kind of questioning, or at least have tried to devise a believable backstory and explanation. Alistair hadn’t mentioned a distrust of mages, but ten years were enough to change anyone.

They eventually moved on, to retrieve some sealed scrolls from a Grey Warden lockbox for Duncan, and Fay kept herself to herself. If she didn’t open her mouth, volunteer information or half-truths, she couldn’t dig a bigger hole to sink into. She found herself paired with Duran for the coming fights, and though the dwarf was a brute with his axe, Fay got the impression that the others didn’t like his direct attitude so avoided him if they could.

Duran certainly wasn’t Varric, but there was something about his no-nonsense character that Fay could appreciate. None of the group were ones for small-talk it seemed; who knew the Grey Wardens were no fun? Christ, she was going to be miserable if this was the way it was going to be. She missed her friends.

Fay concentrated her efforts on the darkspawn, and the five of them finally cleared the ruins where Alistair said the scrolls had been hidden away. She watched him kneel down and open a battered chest, and it was clear to see that the scrolls were no longer there.

“Well, well. What have we here?”

Fay clamped her tongue between her teeth, letting out a muffled squeal of frustration- Flemeth had a lot to answer for. Morrigan strutted arrogantly towards their band with a smirk on her face.

“Are you a vulture, I wonder” the mage teased. “A scavenger, poking amidst a corpse whose bones were long since cleaned? Or merely an intruder, coming to these darkspawn filled wilds of mine in search of easy prey? What say you?”

“Don’t answer her. She looks Chasind,” Daveth said to Alistair, “more than she does at any rate” he added, glancing sideways at Fay. “There’s bound to be others nearby.”

“I’m not a spy, if that’s what you’re thinking” Fay said to him.

Morrigan laughed. “Do you fear barbarians will swoop down upon you?” she asked.

Alistair scowled. “Yes. Swooping is bad.”

“She’s a witch of the wilds,” Daveth went on, “she’ll turn us into toads!”

“Seriously? For fu-” Fay interjected, narrowly getting a hold on herself before swearing profusely at such idiocy. “My name is Fay, and I am pleased to make your acquaintance.” Don’t say her name, don't say her name, Fay repeated internally. “We are here to reclaim some scrolls, nothing more and nothing less.”

“Ah, honesty at last” Morrigan said, and Fay returned her smile- though hers was one of sardonic amusement considering she’d barely told any of them anything truthful since arriving. “And such manners! You may call me Morrigan, and the scrolls you seek are no longer in that chest.”

“I bet you took them, didn’t you?” Alistair piped up. “You stole them- you’re some kind of sneaky… witch thief!”

“Alistair” Fay warned, “that’s not helping.”

“How very eloquent. How does one steal from dead men?” Morrigan asked Alistair, folding her arms.

“Quite easily it seems. Those documents are Grey Warden property, and I suggest you return them.”

“Alistair, please, enough. Can we sort this out without resorting to childish insults and mud-flinging?”

Morrigan laughed. “Little boys scare so easily, but you are quite right. I cannot return them, because it was not I who removed them.”

“Do you know who did, or tell us where we can look for them?” Fay asked, ignoring the wounded look Alistair was giving her.

“It was my mother, in fact.”

Flemeth? This bizarre day just got better and better. The Flemeth of the past, of now, Fay corrected herself, wouldn’t know about this plan of hers- would she? This was another timeline, one that would fracture from the one Fay had come from. Trying to make sense of it all was just aiding in giving her a headache. Worry about it later, the first goal was to join the Grey Wardens and if finding these damn scrolls was one of the tasks, then that’s what they’d do.

“Can you take us to her?” Fay queried.

“A sensible request, I like you. Follow me then, if you so wish.”


	2. Chapter 2

Alistair couldn’t really decide what to make of the young woman they had stumbled across in the Korcari Wilds. The meeting was perhaps a little too coincidental for his liking, and the way she uttered his name had been, well, unnerving. It wasn’t said in a manner suggestive of innocently querying his identity, but the informal ease of greeting an old friend one had not seen for some time. But Alistair didn’t know her; he would have remembered the nebulous aura of magic she radiated during battle, _if_ he had encountered it before. Fay was a conundrum, one that neither Templar nor Grey Warden training had prepared him for. Abominations and darkspawn? Both creepy, but stick them with a sword, or chop off their heads, and problem solved. This… this was not so straightforward.

Maybe he was just a sucker for a pretty face… and those ultramarine eyes of hers… but Alistair had felt something tug in his gut when Fay said she wanted to join the wardens. An indescribable sensation, not one he’d had before. He couldn’t tell if it was good, or bad. Still, Duncan was unlikely to turn away anyone volunteering to bolster their ranks, and the Warden-Commander held the decisive vote as to who undertook the joining ritual. Alistair considered that justification enough to take Fay with them- ultimately it would be Duncan’s ruling, not his own. That was the burden of leadership, and he was certainly not one of those. A leader.

The other new recruits disagreed with his decision, noisily and often, as they had been doing about every detail given or every single request made of them since arriving at Ostagar. The secrecy of precisely what the Joining entailed wasn’t helping, but Alistair was under strict orders from Duncan in that regard. He sympathised with their apprehension, but these were supposed to be willing men. Men who wanted to fight the darkspawn horde, and prevent… well, the end of the world- the archdemon and the blight. It was an undertaking that required hard work, dedication, loyalty, and not moaning about a lack of clean sheets and whores to take a tumble in a haystack with. Maker preserve him.

Fay though, she struck him as different. She could fight, and although her discomfort in not knowing how to use a dagger properly was apparent, the young woman didn’t flinch or back down in the thick of a skirmish. Even the sight of the disfigured, snarling darkspawn genlocks and hurlocks didn’t seem to shock her. The darkspawn’s number had grown exponentially, so it was possible she had already run into them on the way to Ostagar. And did she mention where she’d come from exactly? Alistair didn’t think so, just a reference to a brother who didn’t exist. Oh, he knew Fay had been lying to them since she leapt out of the bushes, but he didn’t think she was Chasind or an infiltrator sent by an undisclosed new enemy.

Alistair saw Fay pick a white wildflower, it’s long stem poking through the knotty hole of a hollow, moss-wrapped tree trunk alongside the ill-defined trackway. Life always found a way, didn’t it? As she tucked the flower into her dishevelled braid, she noticed him watching her, not that he’d meant to stare. Fay shrugged, giving him a wistful smile. “It’s not Crystal Grace” she said, “but it’s pretty all the same.” Though Fay didn’t offer him any more on it, Alistair had a feeling there was a story behind the flower in her hair.

She was clearly running from something- someone? Though that could be said of most Grey Wardens, including himself. Duncan had saved him from an agonizingly slow death… from the tedium of reading, reciting, and listening to repetitive Chantry indoctrination. Surely the Maker didn’t want to bring people to His side by boring them senseless? Huh, not that you’re going to be welcomed to His side by thinking in that way, Alistair. But it wasn’t his fault though, was it? The revered mothers could at least spice the verses of the canticles up a tiny bit, to keep things interesting.

Alistair’s hand gripped at the silverite chain of the Warden’s Oath around his neck. The amulet containing darkspawn blood was given to him after his joining, and the metal- warmed by the heat of his body - rested against his chest, tucked beneath the shirt under his plate armour. It was one of the few possessions he had, and the symbolism behind it kept him firm in his convictions. The past of a single recruit, or potential recruit, should not be dominating his attention. Alistair shook his head, dismissing the fog of intrusive contemplation caused by the baffling woman. Instead, he took note of the change in surroundings as they walked, focusing on landmarks that would point them back in the direction to Ostagar; back to safety- relatively speaking.

The witch, Morrigan, didn’t dally or slow her pace as she wound her way through the woodland. In fact, she didn’t even look over her shoulder to see if they were all still following her. Maker, why _were_ they still following her? Was getting the scrolls back worth the risk of being boiled in a cauldron, or turned into scaly amphibians destined to live out their existence in these very wilds? A miserable swampland under the cover of a dismal, sunless canopy of densely packed, rotten trees. No, he would rather take the Deep Roads over this. Ugh, the things he did.

“Here we are” Morrigan announced.

“Thank the Maker” Daveth grumbled, somewhat resonant of Alistair’s own feelings about this imprudent trip. “My socks are sodden and my feet are blistered from all this walking.”

“A leech!” Ser Jory cried out, pulling the offending bloodsucker free from under his trouser leg. The knight hopped about and then squashed it under his boot. “Ow! You don’t get those at Redcliffe castle… and I don’t know what you’re laughing at” he added sulkily to the rogue. Daveth had doubled over, howling with laughter, distracted from his sore toes by the knight’s girlish reaction. Was this what it was like to have children?

Alistair peered at the rustic building coming into view as they rounded another impenetrable thicket of brambles, reeds, and bushes. A rundown, crooked cabin with a thatched roof and timber planks creaking with the breeze. He wasn’t sure what he expected, to be honest: A cottage made of sweetrolls and cookies? It was a home, he supposed, though with magic at her disposal he had thought Morrigan might live in a tower, or the illusion of a castle, or… You fool. To escape notice in these parts meant blending in, as all the other apostates and wild folk running loose and snubbing their noses at chantry confinement and law were no doubt doing. How many people like Morrigan were out here, concealed from the rest of what was thought to be normal society- tens, or hundreds?

With Fay on one side, and Duran on the other, Alistair gathered his nerve. Morrigan gave a small wave to a woman observing them, a likely candidate for the head of whatever black coven Morrigan was part of. A grey-haired crone with tattered clothing, and eyes that were simply too keen for a woman of her age, had stepped out of the hut to greet them, and the sight of her made him shiver. Daveth and Ser Jory opted to hang back far enough to bolt at the first sign of danger. Alistair had to wonder what Duncan had seen in those two, other than brute force. The amulet shifting against his skin and his hand reflexively reaching for the chain put a halt to that thought. He shouldn’t judge them so harshly, especially before the Joining. They might not…

“Mother, we have guests” Morrigan said to the woman.

“I can see that, girl. Welcome, Grey Wardens.”

Alistair jumped as the old woman laughed, dry and crackling, and their group stood dumbfounded as she gave them all a small curtsey. Her beady gaze settled on Fay, and Alistair was relieved that the witch’s attention was not on him. Let the stranger- who had decided this was a good idea – deal with the hags. If it all went wrong, and it probably would, then she could have the honour of getting turned into a frog or toad first.

“Thank you, F- for your hospitableness” Fay said. “I’m sure you’re not keen to receive visitors in normal circumstances.”

Fay cheeks were red, her hands clenching at her sides, and Alistair could have sworn he saw the old woman’s eyes narrow at Fay in surprised interest. Her nervous stutter had amused the witch, Alistair reckoned, but for some reason it made him want to tuck Fay in under his arm and hug her protectively. What are you thinking- enamored by a wandering eccentric?! Maybe she had cast a spell on him, or a curse. Was she a Chasind after all, sent to deliver hapless victims for magical experimentation, or as sport for a hunt? Alistair clenched his jaw, it was too late to be considering that now. Duncan was not going to be happy.

“You are not Templar or darkspawn, so your visit makes for a refreshing change. Besides, I have been expecting you. I am Flemeth.” The woman paused and smirked at Fay in a way that was perturbing. “You have already been acquainted… with my daughter, Morrigan. So, with the civilities out of the way, let us get straight to why you have come here.”

Fay nodded, shying away from maintaining eye contact with Flemeth for too long.

“She _is_ a Witch of the Wilds” Daveth blurted out from behind him. “You can’t trust her!”

“Hush” said Duran, standing with his arms crossed over his chest and an unimpressed expression about the whole show. “If she is a witch, then acting like a dolt is not the smartest thing to do.”

“A Witch of the Wilds? Oh, Morrigan, what tales have you been spinning them I wonder? How she loves to dance in the moonlight-”

“Mother” Morrigan chastised, “that is not why they are here, is it?”

“Hah! Quite right. They have come for the scrolls. The seal disintegrated long ago, so I have been protecting them” Flemeth said.

Morrigan’s mother turned her back and disappeared back through the doorway, emerging from the gloom a minute or so later with the scrolls gripped in her boney fingers. She held them out to Alistair, who quickly took them and tucked the rolled parchments into the small leather pouch hanging from his belt. He checked his hands. There was no webbing between his fingers, or a compulsion to eat midges and flies. It wasn’t frog time… Yet.

“You’ve been protecting them?” Alistair asked, looking up at the witch as her words sank in.

“Yes, you heard me right. Is that so hard to believe? Their use will be valuable, why would I not have looked after them?”

“Because… well, because…”

There were many things he wanted to say about that, none of them very flattering. But, as Flemeth had just handed them back without fuss, or request for a reward, he was momentarily lost for a reply. A diplomatic one at any rate.

“What Alistair means is: Thank you” Fay said.

“Erm, y-yes. Thank you for, uhm, for returning them” he managed.

Flemeth’s laugh gave Alistair goosebumps. “You are welcome” the old woman said dismissively, resting her hands on her hips and looking at them with the same toothy smirk she had given Fay. “Do I believe?” she asked in amusement. “Why it seems I did, and I do. Good day, brave wardens. Who knows, perhaps fate will have our paths cross once again. Morrigan, show them back through the woods, would you?”

With that, their bizarre meeting was over it seemed. Morrigan sighed as she consented to guide them back to Ostagar – or at least as close as she was willing to go anyway – and Duran stroked at his beard thoughtfully as he watched Fay say a hasty farewell to Flemeth. The dwarf had noticed it too then. Alistair had a tingling of caution crawling across his skin that something wasn’t quite right between those two, and he wasn’t the only one.

“Are you coming? Or have you decided the wilds are so thrilling that you are going to take them up as a permanent residence?” Morrigan called.


	3. Chapter 3

The unshakeable fizzle that occurred whenever the relium picked up on the taint, had swiftly developed into an excruciating cramping of every muscle. Swallowing the revolting, enchanted solution of darkspawn blood- and goodness knows what else was mixed in with it - for the Joining had left Fay immobilized in a way she hadn’t wanted to ever experience again.

Sweat was beaded across her forehead, dripping down her neck and back. Her body was burning up, trying to fend off the virus-like infection of the blight and re-stabilize her immunity against it. She wondered how long the sickness would last; there was a war coming soon. When, though? A day or two? Tonight?

“Only one recruit died during my joining.”

“The cost cannot be avoided, Alistair. I wish that it could” Duncan said. Two sets of footfalls stopped outside the tent. “Duran and the female recruit, Fay, are now your sole charges. Look after them, they should wake soon.”

“I will, Duncan. Might I ask where are you going?”

“The king has requested my presence, to oversee final planning for the battle. I will rejoin you later once all is concluded.”

Fay turned her head, squinting at Duran who was snoring beside her. There were four bedrolls in the tent they had been taken to, and two of them were depressingly empty. She now knew firsthand why Daveth and Ser Jory had been omitted from the records. Their losses were tragic, but it had been Ser Jory’s death that stoked a loathing in Fay of the Grey Wardens- the paradigm that they were largely made up of criminals: thieves, and _murderers_.

The thought of his heavily pregnant wife waiting for him back at Redcliffe made Ser Jory have a change of heart about going through the Joining. Instead of letting him leave, Duncan killed him. He had pulled out his sword and, without batting an eyelid, thrust the blade through the man’s stomach. The protruding tip had screeched against the stone as Duncan pinned Ser Jory against the wall, a dissonance of noise making the rest of them take a step backwards as they looked on in horror.

The knight gargled, choking on his own blood, before his eyes finally dulled and he quit struggling. Fay couldn’t forgive Duncan for such a soulless act, and she didn’t want to- for the sake of Ser Jory’s unborn, and now fatherless, son or daughter. She knew the Warden-Commander would to meet his end in the next few days, and there was some satisfaction in that. Thinking ill of someone, and more specifically, hoping someone suffered greatly before they expired, was not Fay’s style. But, she would happily make an exception because in her opinion, Duncan deserved his come-uppance.

After Ser Jory’s execution, Fay could only look upon Duncan’s character as one that was cold and callous. The direction he was steering the wardens, in the premise of a noble good, was as blinkered and shortsighted as Clarel’s. And now Fay was counted as one of their number, with Alistair wary of her intentions. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, as they say.

After Fay arrived at Ostagar with Alistair’s party, her chat with Duncan had been a stilted one. Both had maintained a cool distance between them, not giving each other much more than the usual formal preambular greeting expected out of courtesy. The brief meeting was impersonal, and not overly welcoming. Duncan had readily agreed to Fay’s request to join them, and that was her primary objective. Friendship with the man was unimportant, and ultimately a futile exercise anyway.

Duncan wasn’t interested in digging further into her weak excuse for approaching the Grey Wardens out of the blue, and Fay could tell that had frustrated Alistair. It was a problem she would have to address soon, somehow, to bring Alistair and Duran on side. She was going to need them. Just how did Flemeth see _her_ killing the archdemon, over a dwarf who was a veritable demon with an axe?

The tent flaps parted. “I thought you’d probably want water” Alistair said as he entered.

He squatted to hand Fay a leather flask and gave her a taut smile, glancing over at Duran still snoring like a herd of stampeding druffalo.

They had been put through the Joining as the afternoon sky became a rich blend of reds and oranges. Judging by the shadows cast across Alistair’s face and the grey filter to the light, it was a few hours on and early evening.

“Thank you” Fay said croakily.

She struggled to sit up to quench her thirst, discovering that her leather armour and boots had been stripped. It left her in the cotton tunic and trousers she wore beneath, and they clung to her skin.

“I suppose it shouldn’t shock me that you’re up already.”

“Which is meant to imply what, exactly?”

“Well,” Alistair said, “meeting you has been a little… unusual.”

“And when I got up this morning I didn’t picture- no, you know what? I’m not having this conversation right now, or I’m likely to say something I will regret.”

Alistair’s mouth opened and shut a few times, until he finally nodded submissively and took back the flask. “Get some more rest if you can” he said. “The symptoms should settle in a few hours. I’ll see what there is to prepare for dinner and check on you both in a bit.”

Fay found a more comfortable position and closed her eyes. She hadn’t meant to snap at him, what happened at the Joining wasn’t Alistair’s fault. Though, when she met him at Redcliffe he hadn’t mentioned Ser Jory or Daveth then, had he? Was all of this so easily pushed aside for the sake of the wardens, for Duncan? Alistair had been through a lot, Fay. That’s an unfair accusation, and not one that you’re in a good position to make about him.

_Flemeth transformed into a draconic beast, grabbing Fay in her hooked talons and flying high above the Frostback mountain range. The mage let go and watched with a wicked attentiveness as she plummeted towards the snowcapped peaks. Then Fay was in her car, her foot stamping the brake pedal flat to the floor with no effect. Careening through a barrier, the car fell from the top of a tower into the sea. Unable to reach from the drivers seat to undo Rebecca’s seatbelt, water submerged them at alarming speed as her daughter screamed. Hawke morphed into Andrew, looking Fay up and down dismissively before dematerializing in front of her without a word._

“Hey, lassie, wake up.”

_Fay’s friends circled around her to shout and point their fingers, demanding to know why she had left them defenseless against Corypheus and not fulfilled her responsibility as Inquisitor._

“What do you want me to do?!”

“I can’t wake her, I’ve tried. Agh, you’re as much use as an axe made of cotton. Lassie, wake up!”

“Ow!” There was a violent dig in her ribs, of the kind that would leave a bruise. “The fuck that for?” Fay grumbled sleepily.

A candle lantern had been lit and brought into the tent. Fay rubbed at her eyes, the yellow glare making them sting and water. Alistair and Duran’s sharpened into focus, no longer just a pair of blurry smudges hanging over her.

“Are- are you alright?” Alistair asked.

“Apart from my ribs. That bloody hurt, and I’m guessing that was you, Duran.”

“You were yelling and thrashing about. We were concerned you may be having some sort of fit” Duran said with a shrug. “You said something about Rebecca, and then a hawk?”

“That’s… that’s personal. Very. I’m sorry for disturbing you both, but I’m fine.”

Alistair pouted at her. “Hmph, nope, you don’t have to tell us anything. Next time you want to scream down the camp though, give us some warning.”

“Alistair-”

“Dinner’s ready and Duncan is due to return” he said, turning and leaving the tent.

“Shit. Duran, don’t look at me like that. It’s… fucking complicated.”

“Aye, things always are, lassie. You don’t need to tell me that. Alistair means well. You’re both young and prone to these frankly non-sensical outbursts."

“Young? Huh, I’ve not been called that for a while.”

Duran’s forehead furrowed as he studied her, tugging at his beard. “Ah, what do I know. All you humans look alike to me, but I’d still call you a kid the same as him.”

“I’m thir- oh. Is there anything I can use as a mirror around here?”

“I’m sure pretty boy has one. You want to preen? Do it after food.”

Duran shook his head, muttering under his breath about vanity and women, before going in search of his share of dinner. Fay was left, again, to try and make some sense of what was going on. She needed to consult with Flemeth- without Alistair, Duran, or Morrigan around; as if anything was that easy.


	4. Chapter 4

The battle of Ostagar started a week after Fay was sent through the eluvian to the Korcari Wilds. Ferelden would lose their king, the wardens would lose Duncan, and Fay’s decade long journey was about to begin proper. She had already lost her daughter twice, Hawke, her friends… now it was her task to patiently piece things back together. And trust a witch to keep her word.

There had been one unexpected, and welcome, effect from Flemeth’s spell. Fay’s reflection showed that her appearance was younger, in conjunction with the time that had reversed in Thedas. When she could go to Kirkwall and find Hawke, they should still be around the same age… bodily anyway. Her mind though, well, that was starting to feel decrepit.

Fay had been ordained by Duncan to use the time before the battle to learn how to fight with a sword. In a fortress filled with blacksmiths brought in by the king for his army, and stacks of crates of supplies, she didn’t believe there weren’t any maces available. Instead, Fay considered it to be a cruel and unusual punishment for her dishonesty. The Warden-Commander had nominated Alistair to instruct her, so once again Fay found herself drilling at dawn and being knocked onto her backside in the mud by a stocky warrior. Cassandra would have loved that- as much as Duran did sitting outside the tent, chuckling to himself, and watching the pair every morning.

Fay had only seen King Cailan and Loghain Mac Tir in passing during her short stay in the old Tevinter fortress. Whereas Loghain’s betrayal had fostered no liking in Fay for the man, having spent time with Duncan- and with the affordability of some hindsight, or foresight, of what Clarel had agreed to do – Fay looked upon his motives differently; almost sympathetically, to a degree. Loghain didn’t idolize the wardens as Cailan did. The king gushed whenever he spoke to Duncan, his faith painfully apparent to her. Cailan thought that simply having the few wardens there were present was all he needed to beat the darkspawn back. He was a fool, childish… playing with lives as if they were tin soldiers and not real ones.

Loghain was more sensible, tactical, not overeager to simply throw the gathering army into the jaws of a league of darkspawn and cross his fingers in hope. Withdrawing his men from the field after correctly assessing the war could not be won, the man would remain unmoved by fanciful stories about the feats of the Grey Wardens riding on the backs of griffins. Loghain would be called a traitor and, in some minds, a regicide. A distrust of Orlais aside, Fay was unsure if there really was an ulterior motive to the judgement call. Fay was aware how much of a wild card the wardens really were. An unpredictable force working for their own autonomy. Loghain was right to be cautious, to not be blinkered by legends and ballads.

Whilst claiming not to involve themselves in politics, Fay knew this was not the case; the Grey Wardens’ meddling would have a big part in molding Ferelden. Whomever sat upon the throne in Denerim, and in Orzammer, would be influenced by their actions: Alistair, Duran, and now herself. There was an intricate tapestry being woven, threads that would once again end with the mage-templar war and Corypheus’ rise if they weren’t careful. But, how could she decide what changes to make? Could the three of them make the future better- or would it turn out worse? Would the just out of adolescence Alistair of the now still end up taking the crown for Ferelden? There was a lot to think over.

Elves were segregated into alienages, treated as parasites. They were slaves, servants, drudges living in squalor and poverty. Then there were the mages, prisoners under the watch of Templar warders in the Circles, unable to have families or leave the towers. Yet when their magic would prove useful, they were expected to obey like good pets. Tranquility, abuse… But not all the men and women serving the chantry were amoral. Tethered by lyrium, Fay had seen how hard Cullen had laboured to come off the drug. The chantry had no right to create Templars in that way: without full disclosure of what lyrium would do to them. Fay had some ideas, small nudges to make to the right people, she just wasn’t confident it would be enough.

Her stay at the Grey Warden campsite at Ostagar was an awkward week of waking from dreams, shouting out someone’s name and being cast withering looks by those she disturbed in the middle of the night. Fay was sure one-day Alistair or Duran would make the association with some of those whom she accidently mentioned- Cullen, Hawke, Dorian, Varric... She was doing all she could to banish the nightmares, making use of the lucid dreaming techniques Solas had helped her learn. But, until her subconscious processed the whole tangled mess, and made peace with it, the dreams would continue.

The week of waiting, and training, had not helped to repair relations between her and Alistair. He was increasingly dubious of the stories she used to cover up anything let slip. Fay thought he probably didn’t believe anything she said at all. Duran, however, had his own troubles occupying him. He asked questions, but didn’t continue to prod if she shut him down. The dwarf skirted the boundaries, careful not to overstep, and Fay did likewise with him. If he’d been anything like Varric, he would have got the information out of her through persistence and guile. She was glad that he wasn’t.

Fay remembered parts of the Hero of Ferelden’s origins. There had been something about being made casteless, renounced by his father and brother in Orzammer. A shitty ordeal, though typical of dwarves and their precious honour. It was clear that whatever disaster had led him to Duncan still bothered Duran. Fay may be parted from Rebecca for ten years, and would have to find a way to recommence her relationship with Hawke- if that was possible, or to be - but Duran wouldn’t be able to return to his family even if he wanted to. To his people, his family, he no longer existed.

“Do you three understand what the king has asked you to do?” Duncan asked.

Fay bit her tongue, her hands clasped behind her back. Horns blared, calling units of soldiers, mages, archers, and mabari handlers to positions assigned to them below, or up on the bridge and parapets overlooking the woods.

“I don’t see why he needs three Grey Wardens to go and light the signal in the tower.”

Duran huffed. “Look, kid, if that’s what your king wants, that’s what he gets.”

“Fine, but if the king asks me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold, I’m drawing the line.”

Fay laughed, picturing a dolled-up version of Alistair tottering about on high-heels. “I’d pay to see that” she said.

“It would have to be a pretty dress-”

“Please, Alistair, enough.”

“Sorry, Duncan. You’re right, and yes, so are you Duran. We’ll wait up the tower to light the signal, as ordered.”

“Good. May the Maker watch over all of you.”

“Andraste guide your path, Duncan.”

Leaving the campfire, a few fat drops of rain preceded a clap of thunder. The three new Grey Wardens made it to the archway leading out from Ostagar to the bridge, Alistair pausing to give Duncan a final wave goodbye. The ill-fated defensive had started. Soldiers screamed as fire exploded around them from an unseen source, dogs barked, yelped, and there was high-pitched whistle marking a volley of arrows. The causeway under their feet shook, Alistair and Duran taking Fay’s lead to bolt across it rather than be caught in the pandemonium.   

“Why are we having to dart around fireballs?” Duran shouted.

Fay glanced back at him. The dwarf was patting at his singed beard, short legs pumping as fast as they would go.

“Emissaries? That, or someone on the trebuchets has really bad aim” Alistair said.

“I don’t really fancy stopping to check, do you?” she asked.

“No. Keep running. We’re nearly there.”

They made it over the bridge without injury, and Fay was happy to have her feet back on solid earth. Ground that wasn’t going to crumble and potentially take them down with it.

“You! You there!” a man shouted. He pelted towards them from the direction of the tower, his circle robes threatening to trip him up along the way.

Duran looked up at Fay. “Is he talking to us, you think?”

“Must be. Alistair, who is that?”

“Why are you asking me?”

“Because, Alistair, you’re more likely to know what’s going on. Actually, no, fuck it. Because Duncan put you in charge, no other reason.”

“Thanks, I think?”

“It’s too late… they’re dead.” The mage caught up to them, his face ashen. “The darkspawn… they’ve taken the tower” he said, nearly dropping his staff as he threw his hands up in despair.  

“Lovely” Duran said with sarcasm.

Fay pulled her sword from its scabbard, the length and weight of it still queer to her, and unclipped her shield.

“Come on then,” she said, “let’s go.”

“Go? Wait… what?”

“To the tower, Alistair. We have a signal to light. Plus, weren’t you the one complaining that you weren’t going to be able to join in with the fighting? Well, now you have a whole tower full of the little buggers to kill.”

“Great. Yes, just what I always wanted.”

“After you then. And you, mage, what’s your name?”

“M-Myles” the man stuttered. “Y-you can’t go in there! It’s… they’re-”

“Yes, we are, and you, Myles, are coming with us. I hope you know some healing or barrier spells.”

“Y-yes, some. But-”

“That’s good. Move” she directed.

In Redcliffe, Alistair had told her a witch in the guise of a dragon - Flemeth - had rescued them from the top of the Tower of Ishal after the battle at Ostagar. He hadn’t said what precipitated such an extraction, but the more of them there were to face it, the better.


	5. Chapter 5

Alistair stood with his back against the iron braced door and waited for Myles to heal up the cut to Duran’s forearm. The buckles and studs pinched against the skin beneath his shirt, causing him to wriggle and squirm. He avoided making eye contact with Fay, who turned her head to hone in on him at the sudden noise and movement. Tight-lipped... she was probably cursing his name to the Maker, or something.

A Shriek had caught the dwarf with its elongated dagger gauntlet, leaping out from a small room that had once served as an armoury. The shattered crates and dusty, empty racks provided nothing worthwhile, so their group were to press on to the next floor once Duran was fixed up. The sooner the better. The tower gave him the creeps, and standing around waiting to be ambushed again wasn’t doing anything to settle his nerves. Not that he was worried. Of course not; the wardens had this sticky business under control and it would all be fine in the end. You almost sounded like you believed it that time, Alistair.

He wanted to feel infuriated at Fay, for not giving Myles any option other than to go with them. But, as it turned out, Alistair was glad that she _ha_ d bossed the mage into their group after all. Fay was good at bossing people about. She had that ‘don’t argue with me, young man’ maternal inflection women naturally acquired. It would scare him into obedience. Correction, it did scare him into obedience at regular intervals.

The four of them had clashed with hurlocks and genlocks by the dozens when they entered the tower, and Maker knew how many more there were to be discovered. Myles’ barriers were a huge help, as were the lightning bolts and short-range cones of shocking fade energy he let loose. It certainly stopped the darkspawn in their tracks, giving the ugly cretins a shocking – ha! – start. That was a pun worthy of storing away for later. Duncan might even crack a smile at that one, rather than roll his eyes and sigh at him.

Fay wasn’t at ease with brandishing a blade after their short tutelage, and continued to stick with Duran as she had back in the wilds. Either that, or she was continuing to avoid him by pairing with the dwarf. Would she do that? If it was just a lack of self-assurance she was being silly. Fay was adept, and demonstrated to him an unexpected talent for swordplay. She wasn’t a master at the art, but the fundamentals she had were very good grounds to work up from.

Typically, she wouldn’t say who had trained her to fight before she came to them- a brother, her father. A spouse? She wasn’t too young to be wed. Could that be why Fay wanted to join the wardens- to run away from an unhappy marriage; a union for titles and power rather than love? It wasn’t unheard of, yet not a common practice in Ferelden- they weren’t Orlesians, after all… like Isolde. Alright, perhaps Isolde didn’t simply marry Eamon to get her grabby, Orlesian mitts on the Arl’s money and lands. Or did she?

Women were fickle creatures. He’d overheard another templar recruit telling someone that once. Quietly, of course, so the revered mothers didn’t string him up by the ankles and dangle him before Adraste’s statue in the chapel hall as penance. Alistair couldn’t remember the recruit’s name… something beginning with a C? Anyhow, maybe Fay didn’t want to talk openly with him because he’d offended her in some way. He’d thought over their meeting several times, and he couldn’t pinpoint anything that would indicate it to be so. But, who knew? She was being evasive, and it niggled at him.

Alistair had been superlative in his conduct, tending to Fay as she recovered from the Joining in a conspicuous gesture of fellowship. She hadn’t needed his assistance, and his presence only seemed to sour her mood instead. Everyone dealt with the ceremony differently, but Ser Jory and Daveth’s deaths had been hard-hitting. Then, afterwards, he detected a more passive-aggressive interplay between her and Duncan leading up to the battle. As if she blamed his mentor for the whole unfortunate event. Did she blame him too? Was that what it was about? Eugh, if only she would just come out and tell him!

Fay wouldn’t say much outside of the line of genteel conversation. Sure, it wasn’t an obligation, but it would be… well, _nice_. Alistair always made sure to afford her privacy when it was the chivalrous thing to do. Especially first thing in the morning and last thing in the evening when she donned or removed her armour. And, he hadn’t tried to sneak a peek. Not once; not even when his hormonal curiosity grew. No. Instead, he had paced around the fortress to settle his idiosyncratic feelings at imagining those nimble fingers beginning to unbutton her leather jacket, Fay’s dark hair- curled by the braid - fluttering against her cheek...

Three small instances- he’d confined them to memory. There had been three occasions, albeit brief, when Fay had forgotten the ire of whatever ate at her and she had spoken as herself. The real her. Alistair had seen a glimpse of the woman inside; one whom was funny, and sweet. In those scarce exchanges, that Fay was the one he connected with. Alistair wouldn’t give up, because he was sure one day she would allow that person to emerge. It would just take the right leverage or trigger: trust, friendship, consideration or compassion… passion? Your mind takes you down contorted paths, Alistair, stop.

There was one thing that did make him apprehensive about Fay, more-so than not understanding what made her tick. Though Alistair hadn’t taken his vows and completed his inauguration into the Templar order, his learned sensitivity to magic went into overload whenever Fay used her abilities; the ones she wouldn’t impart details to him about. Her skin took on a red glow, an aura snapping to life that was saturated with a dark energy. It was an aura he didn’t like too much, because- Andraste’s knicker-weasels - she felt just like those darkspawn emissaries.

Fay was therefore an apostate: a well-spoken, peculiar battle-mage hybrid. She stood toe-to-toe with foes, using physical force instead of elemental spells. Her maverick use of magic was another item on the lengthy list he had to mull over about the woman who’d sprung out from behind a clump of bushes in the woods.

“Good as new” Myles announced.

Speaking, metaphorically, of foes…

“Shame.” Oh, no, he hadn’t meant that. “I mean, err, it’s a shame we’ve got to continue trawling our way through this gloopy darkspawn mess. Not that it’s a shame you’re fixed, Duran.”

“I knew what you meant, kid.”

“I’ll… I’ll just shut up. Yes. Shutting up-”

“Just stand there and look pretty, Alistair.”

Pretty? Did he really hear that right- did Fay just call him that? He watched Fay pull at the cord of her supply pack and hitch it to her belt by the loop at the neck. The bottles of remaining healing potions, stamina potions, and sword cleaning oils rattled together as they jostled against her hip. He wasn’t sure how to respond, so decided to stay quiet. He didn’t want to put his foot in his mouth again anyway. Fay patted Duran on the shoulder, nodding her head towards the door behind him. It was business as usual between them then, Alistair thought with disappointment. Chewing his lip, he opened the stairwell that would take them up to the second floor. Pretty…?


	6. Chapter 6

Fay pulled the blanket around her shoulders and stared into the flames leaping in dance. Bright, energetic, and joyful. After her near-miss with death, and so soon after entering into this unwritten contract of a decade-long purgatory, Fay was feeling the exact opposite. Although Adamant had prepared her for the sights, smells, and sounds of a full-scale war, Ostagar had been different. Worse. Any loss in battle was senseless, but… Fay had known what the outcome was going to be, and hadn’t done a single thing to try and intervene. Honestly, she felt just as much a villain as Corypheus.

Her chest ached where it had been pierced by the ogre’s horn and three darkspawn arrows, but Flemeth’s healing had worked miracles. The dragon-shifting mage had restored Duran, Alistair, and Fay to near full strength in only a few days. Magic wards kept the hut from being detected by the darkspawn, and a reprieve in the fight against the tormented creatures was welcome. Their protection would end soon, they were to be thrust out into a blight-stricken Thedas and Flemeth’s door shut tight behind them.

The wardens- Fay included - were all shaken by what happened, but Alistair was utterly despondent. He wasn’t talking to anyone much since Flemeth and Morrigan revealed what had happened at Ostagar. Duran couldn’t shake Alistair from his morose mood, and the young warden looked straight through Fay whenever she tried to talk to him- like she wasn’t even there. And maybe to his mind she wasn’t, not after losing the only person who had really mattered to him. It was her fault. She had offered no warning, her lies alienating and dividing her from Alistair the most.

Morrigan had grudgingly accepted Duran’s company, and they were out in the swamps hunting down any overlooked supplies: weapons dropped by long-lost travelers, herbs and mushrooms, scraps of material, and tools. Alistair had taken to huddling under the wooden awning at the side of the cabin, which sheltered the firewood from the rain. It was a small space that only he could occupy, alone. He wasn’t the confident king Fay met at Redcliffe, but a boy tossed into a firestorm without any armour. She didn’t want to see him burn, though part of her wondered if it were already too late.

Fay’s blood had cleansed the darkspawn taint already, but she was still technically a member of the order. The relium gave her warning of the blighted creatures presence, though she couldn’t be sure that it was as strong as for those still under the grip of the joining concoction. It wasn’t as though she could compare notes with Alistair or Duran on the matter. There was something Fay wanted to study if she ever found time after the blight was over. Her blood magic had saved Hawke, though had damaged her in return, and it had her considering if she could cure the taint in Alistair and Duran when all this was done.

Fay didn’t agree with the Grey Wardens’ practices, though she didn’t want them disbanded. It was high ranking commanders such as Clarel and Duncan making the decisions for their officers, and the inherent closed-door dictatorship was flawed. Those with the guts to question orders ended up like Ser Jory, or persecuted into exile like Stroud. The wardens may be needed as vanquishers of darkspawn and archdemons, but if they didn’t change, enslavement under Corypheus and the Ventori could be repeated. To create a faction within the Grey Wardens under her guidance, freeing commanders close to the calling from the taint so they could stand vigilant against inner corruption? It wasn’t a bad notion, if she could figure out a way of doing it and not killing herself in the process.

There was a creak as Flemeth lowered herself in a rocker next to Fay. “The Grey Wardens were always going to suffer this blow, though their future does not have to be as thralls” the mage said as if reading her mind. “Some events are imprinted heavily in the fabric of all things. Those tangled strands cannot be undone to start anew, but others can be threaded- over and under - making a new pattern.”

“Knowing that doesn’t bring me comfort.” Fay shook her head in disgust at herself, unprepared to meet Flemeth’s piercing gaze.

“Your visit before the battle spurred me to return to a place I have not ventured for centuries. A trace of you lingers there- the possibility of what can be.”

“Well, I’m glad _someone_ knows what’s going on” Fay muttered.

The old woman rubbed her hands together and leant towards the fire. “I doubt any of us can say that for certain, girl. You bring hope. Hope that there does not need to be an endless cycle of darkness and ruin.”

“I don’t see how you can say that, I let innocents be massacred without giving them any warning of what was to come. I led a man, who could have fled, to his death. Myles-”

“- would still have been killed by the darkspawn. At the top of that tower, or on the mud churned fields with everyone else. What difference does it make? I know what you are thinking: you would save them all, if you could. We are not so different, you and I.”

If there was a way of paying back the kindness to those she had come to care for, then Fay intended to do it. Amidst it all, she had extended her family ties to encompass people from all manner of beliefs, backgrounds, and race- as it _should_ be. That was the world she wanted her daughter to know, and those were the sorts of people Fay wanted to have around Rebecca in Thedas. But at what cost to her own guilt and humanity? It was nothing more than a sharp stone lodged in her throat.

“This blight will be ended, and Urthemiel’s soul freed from the archdemon. How you ultimately reach that conclusion, is up to you.”

Fay had struggled through some awful things, but her friends had never faltered in their concern. Whether by standing as a literal shield for her in battle, or by providing counsel and support in darker days, the people she had left behind mattered. Fay would see them happy and secure. Small changes could accumulate into something bigger, a snowball rolling down hill- an avalanche if she wasn’t careful. Despite the moral dilemma, she would see it through to the conclusion and take accountability where it was due. For all their sakes.

“My daughter… will I not be able to see her at all before the ten years are up?”

“Convergence is still but a speck on the horizon. The direction will only become apparent once paths start to align.”

“When I do what you asked of me, it’ll become clear, right?” She had expected an answer such as that. Fay rubbed her eyes and tried to stifle a yawn, hiding her mouth with the back of her hand. “Do you still intend to send Morrigan with us?”

“The request she will make of you ensures another fateful encounter, her role cannot be discounted.”

So Morrigan was a safeguard to Flemeth’s plans somehow, if Fay failed.

“I suppose it’s too much to ask what that request will be?”

“She will ask that you kill me, and I want you to agree to do so.”

Fay stretched, the blanket slipping down from her shoulders. In another world that would have shocked her, but not here. “You say to agree, though we both know that I’m not actually going to carry such a request out. I assume Morrigan will not be present for this matricidal deed.”

“You will take to her an item as ‘proof’ and she will not question the sincerity. My ties with Morrigan will then be severed; only then will my daughter be ready to unlock a multitude of possibilities for herself, and I.”

Fay nodded absently, staring back into the fire. Morrigan and Duran would be back soon, and she wanted to check on Alistair before they returned. “Motherhood, huh” she said.

“Motherhood” Flemeth agreed. “Responsibility is often not a burden easy to bear. It can make someone, and just as easily break them. Don’t take on too much of it over the coming years, Fay.”


	7. Chapter 7

Lothering. Fay hadn’t expected the first place they would head to would be Hawke’s old home. His family fled after Ostagar, and they would be on their way to Kirkwall by now. Her love was so close, and yet firmly out of her reach. Another year or more… assuming she survived the fight with the archdemon. But, there were three of them now, not two. Besides, if her presence didn’t muck things up, there would be an entire army at Denerim: Dalish hunters, circle mages, and dwarven warriors. An alliance not unlike the Inquisition, brought together for a common cause.

"Look what we have ‘ere, lads. Some travellers.” A man stood with his arms crossed, blocking their passage over the bridge. A group of greasy haired stragglers were gathered behind him, their hands resting on the hilt of their weapons and grinning with eagerness. Chancers turned bandits. Stupid ones. “There’s a toll, and we’s ‘ere are the collectors. Got to pay up if you wanna pass.”

“Cute, now get out of our way moron.”

“’Tis no use, Fay. They will make a decision befitting such limited intelligence.”

“Then an ass-whooping it is. I’ll happily oblige. Morrigan, join me?”

“Of course.” Her smirk was cruel, and a little frightening.

“Feisty bitches, eh? You oughta keep these whores on a shorter leash-” The man doubled over, dropping to the floor as Duran’s fist connected with his stomach with a loud smack. It was a good shot.

“Say it again, I dare you” the dwarf threatened. Fay gave him an appreciative smile, and unsheathed her sword. Thedas had no shortage of people to fight.

“Get them!” the incapacitated leader whined, and his merry group of idiots charged.

The fight was over quickly, half lay dead and the rest- including the leader – whimpered like dogs for mercy.

“Show me what you’ve taken from others” Fay demanded. The leader pointed to a chest tucked behind some scattered crates.

“There. That’s all, I swear it.”

“Duran, what do you think? Let these budding entrepreneurs go free, or…”

The dwarf hefted his axe. “I don’t think so.”

Fay shook her head. “No, neither do I.”

The leader’s eyes widened. “What?! No! That wasn’t our deal.”

“I don’t make deals with those who don’t deserve it” Fay told him.

Bandits cleared, the four of them headed down into the village.

Alistair paused. “Duran. Fay. A moment.”

He’d been silent since they left Flemeth’s hut, and Fay was happy that he’d finally decided to snap himself back to the present. His mourning for Duncan was not done, but he would get there in his own way. They also needed him to concentrate his efforts on the task at hand, he was their senior warden. He knew things about the order that she and Duran did not, and Alistair would have a greater cognizance of the steps they needed to take to bring down Urthemiel.

“Done navel gazing at last?” Morrigan asked.

“I just- of course you wouldn’t understand. What if someone close to you… what if your mother died, what would you do?”

“Before or after I stopped laughing?”

“Riiight. Disturbing. I should have known. Anyway, I am not ‘navel gazing’.” His cheeks were flushed and he fiddled with the chain around his neck.

“It’s alright, Alistair. What did you want to talk to us about?”

“Well, it’s just that we have the treaties to enforce, but we haven’t decided on a plan.”

Duran shuffled and looked up at Fay. “Got any ideas, lassie?”

“Why me?”

“Because you’re headstrong, and you seem to be a natural when it comes to-”

“- ordering people about” she finished for him.

“Wouldn’t have put it quite like that, but yes.”

“Andraste’s flaming ass. Fine. So, the Dalish will probably be the hardest to track.”

“Duncan mentioned the Brecilian Forest. It’s to the northeast, though its still a large area to cover.”

“Maybe that should be our first destination then. The closest circle is Kinloch…” Fay faltered. Cullen was at the circle, the torment he suffered there sending him down a path of self-loathing and anger. Could they do something to avert the disaster there?

“Fay?”

“Uh, sorry, Duran. The surface entrance to Orzammer is in the Frostbacks, right?”

“You seem to know your way around.”

More than you know, Fay thought. “I hear things, and I have a good memory.”

“We could also visit Redcliffe” Alistair added. “Arl Eamon, he would aid us. Though, I haven’t seen him for years.”

“Redcliffe.” Fay shuddered. The name was synonymous with despair and pain. “Redcliffe is closest, so we could get that out of the way first.”

“Don’t like the place?” Duran asked.

“No, it’s… it’s fine. I doubt it’s the same now anyway.”

Alistair frowned. “Same as what?”

“It doesn’t matter, honestly. I’ll tell you later.” _Much later_. Fay cleared her throat, glad that Morrigan had decided to resist poking her nose in. “You’re really deferring to me for a plan?”

“I’ll follow, wherever you lead” Alistair said quietly.

Fay was pretty sure she heard Morrigan mutter: ‘What a surprise’ under her breath.

Duran scratched at his beard. “I don’t know these places you mention, except Orzammer, of course. Thought of returning there makes my blood boil. But, if we must, so be it. Best we have someone in charge who knows where to head, and if Alistair isn’t keen…”

“I must have mug tattooed on my forehead.” Fay sighed. “If it were up to me, which apparently it is, I’d go to Redcliffe, then try to find the Dalish, then across to the circle, and lastly up into the mountains to the dwarves. It’s still going to take months of to-ing and fro-ing. We have no horses. Hmmm, I wonder if Dennett’s farm is secure, would be good to have mounts for the last leg. The frostbacks have trails wide enough.”

“Dennett?” Alistair queried. “How do you know the Arl’s horsemaster? And what’s this about a farm?”

 _Me and my big mouth._ “I… uh, I just met him once. I thought he had a farm of his own, maybe I was mistaken.”

“The Dennett I know taught me how to ride as a child. He serves the castle’s stables, I doubt he would have left.”

“Sure. Could have been another Dennett. So, let’s go see what supplies we can pick up in Lothering?”

“There are templars here.” Morrigan sniffed, scowling at the chantry building visible in the distance. “Mayhap I should stay here for a while.”

“On your own?”

She laughed. “Do you think I would come to harm?”

“Actually, no. Is there anything you want us to pick up for you?”

“Why are you being nice to her?” Alistair complained. “She’s been nothing but-”

“Alistair. We’re going to be in one another’s pockets for a while. Let’s not make things any more antagonistic than they have to be.” 

“She started-”

“And I’m drawing a line. Morrigan- supplies?”

“I am fine, I have all I need. Go, I promise not to set fire to anyone. Unless they deserve it.”

Fay hoisted Alistair by the arm, Duran trailing behind. “You said you’d follow, so come on.”


	8. Chapter 8

Fay had taken off her ring, the one with two birds etched onto a background of white enamel, and surreptitiously slipped it into a pocket as the three wardens descended the steps into Lothering. It struck him as odd that she would remove it here, and now, as the trinket seemed to have significant sentimental value. Fay had kept it on whilst sleeping, training, and even during their futile struggle to reach the top of the Tower of Ishal to light the signal. The signal that Loghain ignored, leaving the king, his son-in-law, and so many valiant warriors like Duncan to die. Swarmed by darkspawn vermin, without hope. No… he could not think on that again.

 _'A Grey Warden’s duty cannot be foresworn. We are bound by our pledge to stop the blight, and we serve to shield others from the pain and suffering the darkspawn sow. A sacrifice should not be forgotten, but the dead do not hold esteem over those who yet remain.’_ Alistair could hear his voice, the words ringing clear in his mind. In peace, vigilance. In war, victory. In death, sacrifice. Their deaths… Duncan’s death… would not be in vain.

“Alistair?”

His name, said with tenderness and quiet worry. Alistair forced himself to smile at his Grey Warden sister. Though she was a mystery, Fay had been there for him since Ostagar. He noticed her coaxing- to eat, to sleep – and the regularity with which she walked by to check on him. Not intruding, but present. Even at the risk of having an awkward conversation, he really should thank her.

“Fay. I… uhm, I wanted to thank-”

“No need, Alistair. It’s called compassion, though I can't make you forget, and I wouldn't want to. I know I'm not the easiest person to accept sometimes, but my heart is not made entirely of ice.”

“No, you’re not Morrigan.”

“Morrigan is… perhaps not well adjusted. I’ll bring her round, Alistair.”

“That’s diplomatic for you, lassie.”

“Thanks, Duran. I have my moments, I’ll have you know. Just this time, I feel more justified in having a ‘take no prisoners’ attitude.”

“This time?”

“This isn’t my first crazy escapade. Just don’t ask, I’m not willing to discuss the details.” Fay nodded towards the chantry. “Do you want to light a candle, for Duncan? I don’t know if you have faith, but sometimes things like that can help soothe the soul.”

“I would like that.”

Around them the people of Lothering scurried with sacks of their belongings, loading wagons and bundling up crying infants. Their clothing was muddy, threadbare, and torn. Alistair would be surprised if they could last a winter, let alone the incoming darkspawn horde. The farmers, hunters, merchants, and already homeless refugees were in a rush to evacuate. There were no soldiers amongst the panicked throng. The Arl had clearly abandoned the village, taking his forces with him. Lothering was lost; the three last wardens in Ferelden couldn’t avert the impending shockwave from Ostagar.  

Fay strolled to greet a templar standing at the chantry door. “Excuse me, is the revered mother inside, Ser-?”

She didn’t seem intimidated; her expression was not hostile or cautious. An apostate, talking to a templar without fear… There was himself, of course, but he wasn’t a fully-pledged templar.  

The templar leant to examine Fay more closely. She stood her ground, meeting his gaze without flinching. She didn’t emit quite the same energy as a mage, not until she used those jarring abilities in battle, but Alistair was aware of the aura surrounding her that was a little… off. There was no question the templar sensed it too: A song, different to that of the taint, and of lyrium, droning in the background. The templar shook his head, in lieu of the current chaos mercifully deciding against a confrontation, and straightened to his full height. “Ser Maron. The revered mother is still here, yes. You’re not looking to make trouble, I hope” he warned.

“My friend” Fay pointed to Alistair, “wants to light a candle in remembrance. That’s all.”

“Fine. The chantry welcomes you then. There’s a lot of tension in the air, what with the wardens and the bandits, so you’ll need to leave your weapons at the door.”

“What’s this about the wardens?” Fay asked.

“Teryn Loghain has declared all wardens as traitors after Ostagar. A sorry state of affairs, who would have thought-”

“Traitors?!!”

The absurdity of it! How dare Loghain, after what he’d done! It had been his fault, all of it, the snake…

Fay’s hand settled on his arm, a light restraint. Alistair bit his tongue, actually bit his tongue, and winced at the taste of blood. His fury at the templar was misplaced, but inside he was seething. Duncan's reputation, sullied by the very man who fled the field...

“I don’t think the Grey Wardens would have done anything at Ostagar to deserve such a slanderous accusation” Fay stated firmly. “Thank you for your time, Ser Maron. Oh, one last thing, you may want to send someone to reclaim the chest full of stolen valuables up on the bridge. The bandits are not a problem anymore.”

The templar bowed stiffly and pushed the heavy door to the chantry open for them, mumbling confused apologies and thanks as they passed. Fay dropped her sword and shield onto a pew just inside, and grudgingly Alistair did the same.

“This better not disappear” Duran said, his axe landing with a clang onto the pile. “Took me ages to find one with the right centre of balance, a good grip, and a decent broad edge.”

“They’re not going to steal your favourite axe” Fay assured the dwarf.

Alistair’s eyes adjusted to the gloom. Was that…? “Ser Donall?”

“Alistair! Is that you? It’s been years! You haven’t changed a bit.” The knight’s grin quickly falters. “I thought all the Grey Wardens perished at Ostagar. You’ve heard rumour of Teryn Loghain’s accusations of your order, I assume?”

“Yes” Alistair snapped. “Despicable lies.”

“I thought as much. You need to watch yourself. Are your two companions-?”

“They are. Duncan recruited them, before…”

“I am sorry, Alistair.”

“How is Eamon, and why are you so far from Redcliffe?”

Ser Donall’s frown deepened. “Ah, of course. You will not have been informed. The Arl, he is not well, Alistair. A grave illness grips him, a lethargy and weakness that has him confined to his bed. The arlessa seeks a miracle. A cure. The library here has provided nothing, and I must return to Redcliffe empty-handed.”

“Arl Eamon is ill? Maker. What is it the arlessa thinks will cure him?”

“Andraste’s ashes. Legend states they were interred within a temple, but I have not been able to find where.”

Fay let out a small gasp, then coughed and turned away.

“You alright, lassie?”

“Yep, Duran. Just a tickle.”

Alistair shrugged at Ser Donall.

“Anyway, I leave today” the knight said. “The arlessa would welcome you to Redcliffe, I’m sure. Teagan would be happy to see you also. Take care, Alistair.”

“And you, Ser Donall.”

Fay and Duran wandered away to enquire where they could buy food, and to see if there was a room they could rent for the night. Alistair approached the altar, a long line of candles already lit for those fallen at Ostagar. A sister swung a censer, chanting verses from the prayers for the despairing, and Alistair was enveloped in the smoke of ash wood chips and dawn lotus. He lit a candle with a shaky hand, and placed it with the rest. He knelt, head bowed to hide his tears.

_‘Maker, my enemies are abundant._

_Many are those who rise up against me._

_But my faith sustains me; I shall not fear the legion,_

_Should they set themselves against me.’_

_'_ _In the long hours of the night_

_When hope has abandoned me,_

_I will see the stars and know_

_Your Light remains.’_


	9. Chapter 9

“I’m not sure I want to stay here” Alistair said.

Duran sniffed, his pale complexion turning grey. “Paragons preserve me, it smells like nug shit.”

The crooked wooden sign read: ‘Dane’s Refuge’, though the ramshackle hut looked decidedly uninviting. Fay was inclined to agree with the pair. They had two small tents, given to them by Flemeth, and although the notion of sharing with Morrigan was not appealing, staying here to soak up the reek of vomit, stale ale, and manure was less so.

“Uh, well, let’s trade some unwanted items and then hit the road” she acquiesced.

“Phew.”

“Good call, lassie.”

The patrons ceased their chatter, staring with suspicion at their weapons, and an uneasy hush descended over the tavern. Two soldiers clad in heavy plate armour did a double take at a slip of parchment in their hand, and then back at the trio.

“They’re some of Loghain’s soldiers” Alistair whispered.

The men rose in unison, their boots crunching over broken bottles. “You there...!”

“Shit, too late” Fay whispered back. Alistair adjusted his grip on his shield, his right hand already on his sword. Duran grunted, slapping the head of his axe down and making the soldiers jolt. They persisted anyway. Fools following orders blindly often do.

“Weren’t we asking about wardens fitting their description earlier?” the dark haired asked his colleague, loud enough for everyone to hear. He scowled down at Duran, and then Alistair.

“Aye, and a woman with them too, like he said there might be” his companion said. “The villagers hid them from us. Deserve more than the beating they got for that.”

A man with a black eye and bloodied nose whimpered from the corner: “We’s told you, they weren’t ‘ere afore.”

“Shut up. As for you, traitors, there’s a pretty pile of coin on each of your heads that we will-”

“Please, gentlemen, I’m certain this can be resolved without further violence, no?” a woman pleads.

“Stay out of this, sister. Interfere, and you’ll get the same as them.”

Leliana?! How could she have forgotten? That night of wine, cheese, and confessions, Alistair had said Leliana was a part of his entourage during the fifth blight. Fay had expected their meeting to take place in a larger town like Redcliffe, or in the city of Denerim.. So deceptively young and innocent, dressed in loose chantry robes of white and red, Fay’s former spymaster already had a hint of that frosty determination in her countenance.   

“There will be a fight” she said to the bard. Leliana, her decision to stand with them made, reached behind and under the long fold of her robes. Two small daggers were pulled free, one in each hand. Fay couldn’t help but grin- it was so like Leliana. “We should get you a bow.”

“Ooooh, I do enjoy archery.”

With five against two, Loghain’s lapdogs didn’t offer much resistance.

“We surrender! Stop!”

Fay cocked her head. “I suppose you’re more useful alive than dead, just this once. Take a message to Loghain. Tell him… tell him that the Grey Wardens want recompense for the wrinkly cocksucker’s deceit. Tell him that one thing is assured: We are coming for him.”

“We will!”

“Now fuck off before I change my mind. You have until the count of three. One. Two.”

The beaten soldiers stumbled over each other in their haste to exit the tavern.

Duran roared with laughter. “Ah, I love it when you morph from an unassuming kid to a foul-mouthed, spitting wyvern.”

Alistair blushed, indicating to the sister now splattered with blood. “Uhm, you may want to tone it down in front of the chantry sister.”

“Oh, Leliana doesn’t mind. Do you?” Fay said. “I always thought dragon, rather than wyvern. But, I’ll take it.”

“I was not _born_ in the chantry. Some of us have already led colourful lives, no?”

“Welcome, Leliana. I expect you’re joining us.”

“W-what?!” Alistair protested, flapping his hands wildly to stress some countering point and failing. Duran didn’t say a word. The dwarf generally just rolled with whatever weird shit Fay came out with.

“That is what I would ask of you, but how did you know?”

“You’re meant to be with us. Don’t look at me like that, Alistair.”

“Then the Maker did show me the correct path. I will gather my things. Where should I meet you?”

“Morrigan awaits at the edge of the village, by the bridge we crossed to get here from the Wilds. There aren’t bandits there anymore, so it’s safe. Duran?”

“Aye, lass?”

“Do you mind going to tell Morrigan that Leliana is expected? I wouldn’t want her to start throwing fireballs or something. I’d ask Alistair, but that would just give her opportunity and motive without us there.”

The dwarf grumbled, itching at his beard. “That witch isn’t right in the head, but I’ll do it.”

“Thank you, Duran.” The fight had spoilt Fay’s incentive to hunt down any useful goods for their journey, and the locals were likely just as relieved to have the Grey Wardens go. Daylight was dimming outside, and they had yet to find a safe area to camp. Duran and Leliana parted ways, leaving Fay with Alistair in tow.

“A quick scout around, then we go back to the others.”

“What for?”

“I don’t know. That’s why it’s scouting and not ‘going to destination a or b’.”

“You really want to bring the sister with us?”

“Yes. It’s not up for debate, Alistair. We need her.”

“And you won’t tell me how you know this?”

“Not today. Soon, I promise.”

“Of course.” Alistair pouted, refusing to meet her gaze.

They trekked in silence to the opposite end of the village. There were fields, a mill, and another bridge.

“We could take that bridge northwards” Fay said, tracking the sun. “We have a few hours before sunset. I’d like to be away from Lothering before then. Loghain’s men could come back, in larger numbers.”

“Don’t forget the darkspawn.”

“Yes, and the darkspawn… A plague of epidemic proportions, indiscriminate of race.” Fay shivered. “Human hurlocks, dwarven genlocks, elven shrieks, and ogres that were once …” She had turned around, intent on walking back into Lothering. In front of them, at the boundary edge of the village marked by low walls, stood a cage. Oh, how Thedas loved its irony. He had no horns, but his physique and features were unmistakable.

“You know a lot about darkspawn.”

“Mhmm. I hear things, and I have a good memory.”

“So you’ve said. Wait, where are you going? Fay?”

Fay jogged to the cage. She could hear the mountainous qunari inside talking to himself, maybe praying. They had their own gods, didn’t they? Iron Bull hadn’t really gone into that side of the Qun with her, but Fay knew they had priests, and therefore a religious practice outside of the Maker or Andraste.

“Shok ebasit hissra. Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun. Maraas shokra. Anaan esaam Qun.”

His voice was a gravelly low growl. Fay had picked up a few words from Bull, though the only part she could decipher was ‘Victory can be found in the Qun’. The qunari had been stripped of his armour, and left in pitiful rags to cover his modesty. Jeez, where was she going to find gear big enough to fit him?  

“Beresaad?” she asked, chuckling at the man’s startled step back.

“I am. Have you come to mock me, bas?”

“Not at all. I want you to join our…” she scrunches her nose, trying to dredge up the correct term, “… kith?”

Alistair watches their exchange with increasing bafflement. “Fay, what in the Maker’s name is going on?”

“We need a qunari” she told him. “Alistair, trust me on this.”

“We- we need a qunari? Right, we _need_ a chantry sister, and now we _need_ a qunari, of course. How stupid of me! You tell me nothing, and then… I give up. Really, I give up.”

Gods, she had a ton of explaining to do. The truth, Fay, you will tell him the truth. At camp. Tonight.

The caged qunari’s astounded expression wasn’t too dissimilar to Alistair’s. “Why do you make this request of me?”

“We’re Grey Wardens. We need allies to fight the blight.”

“You are a Grey Warden? I do not think so. You are a woman.”

“No shit, at least we know there’s nothing wrong with your eyesight. Do you want out of that cage before the darkspawn arrive? There is no anaan for the Qun to be killed like livestock.”

The qunari snarled, large hands gripping the bars of the cage. “I murdered a family in a fit of rage, just for the loss of my very honour! What makes you think joining the wardens will get that back? Ignorant bas, you did come to mock me.”

“I did not, as I said. And I can’t guarantee your honour back, no. But you won’t know, or atone in any way that befits the re-establishment of such respect, until you _try_. Or you can sit here and rot, it’s all the same to me.” Fay turned her back and silently waited. Would he be stubborn, or-?

“You are infuriating, yet there is some merit to your argument. I will join you and your kith, if you can free me” the qunari said, his outburst over.

Well, that was easier than she thought it was going to be. “We’ll be right back” Fay promised.

 “Fay, how are we going to free him? He admitted he killed a family- he’s a murderer, and massive! Maker’s breath, please tell me you’re joking.”

“What is it with ex-templars and that expression?” she mumbled. “I need Leliana, her skills are going to come in handy sooner than I thought.”

“Her skills?”

“Lockpicking.”

“Lockpicking? She’s a… I don’t understand any of this.” Alistair groaned, rubbing at his forehead.

“That’s why it’s good that you look pretty.” Fay scampered off before he could brook further argument to her outlandish proposal. They had a lot to do, but the pieces were coming together one way or another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anaan - Victory  
> Beresaad - 'Those who reach ahead' : A vanguard acting for the Arishok to interact with the 'outside' world. In this case, Sten was sent to investigate reports of the blight.


	10. Chapter 10

Sten, the qunari, and Morrigan sat at opposite sides of the clearing, purposefully ignoring everyone else. Leliana wrung her hands, lost in thought, and looked up every now and then to peer nervously at the three wardens. Duran was swigging large mouthfuls of whiskey purchased from Bodahn, and was thoroughly engaged with reaching the bottom of the bottle. No-one spoke.

The travelling merchant, Bodahn Feddic, and his son, Sandal, were assailed by darkspawn outside Lothering. After their rescue, Bodahn advised Fay and her sundry crew of a decent campsite and the dwarves took their leave. Because of the darkspawn’s draw to the wardens’ taint, and the contract placed on their heads, Bodahn had rationalized that it wouldn’t be a good idea for him and his boy to stay with them for long. Fay could sympathise- she wouldn’t want Rebecca exposed to the darkspawn menace, or to Loghain’s bounty hunters for that matter.

Half an hour after the tents were pitched and the sun disappeared below the horizon, Bodahn rolled his creaking wagon into camp. Sandal was huddled in the back with their wares, looking vacantly at a polished stone held on his lap. Bodahn told Fay that he’d realised the roads were unsafe to travel anyway, and being with the wardens was worth the risk for the protection they could offer against the darkspawn. Fay bid them to stay for as long as they wanted, and Bodahn set up his own tent with theirs.

The cheery merchant had some useful ‘acquired goods’ he allowed Fay to barter for at reduced rate, and he took the junk items they had picked up along the way for a few silvers. He wasn’t a common thief, but rather someone who advantageously redistributed any abandoned belongings he stumbled across. Fay wouldn’t judge: War-time rules. The wardens couldn’t afford to be picky about where their necessaries came from. His son, Sandal, could enchant runes for weapons and armour, once they gathered the required materials. Alistair had shown great interest in runecraft and enchantment, but Sandal didn’t say anything except: “Enchantment?” with a hopeful beam.

Fay had been trying to pluck up the nerve to broach the subject of her questionable decisions, to tell Alistair why she was not like them. But, the longer she thought about it, the more she shied away from doing what she had promised herself back in Lothering. And now… now she couldn’t. Fay picked up her sword, leaving the halo of firelight to take a short walk and clear her head.

“Back in a minute” she said, and still no-one spoke.

The interlaced branches of oak and elm were not too dense that they blocked out the moonlight, and there was an enjoyable breeze against her skin. Fay stopped, not planning to stray far from camp, and listened to the night. Leaves fluttered. Overhead a bat gave a series of short, high-pitched squeaks. From the boughs of a tree somewhere to her left an owl answered with a ghostly ‘whoooo’.  There were no darkspawn- her relium was dormant. Fay clutched to the fragment of serenity, storing it for when the blood was too much. There was an emotion attached to it; a quiet, philosophical acceptance that she was a grain of sand at the bottom of an ocean.

Before the cancer diagnosis, Fay hadn’t really mulled over what that meant- to be small piece in an invisible puzzle that none but its creator could envisage. There was an unceasing tidal swell, carrying people into wars, to suffer abuse, and bend at the knee to death. She had been content with her mundane routine, of cooking, ironing, the early morning commute… But she’d been caught in a backwash, no longer a bystander to the tragedy acted out upon the cosmic stage. Destruction, violence, self-doubt, and loathing. Lies. There was no point shaking her fist in incense at it all. Here she was needed, and here she had no choice but to stay. Acceptance did not equate to giving up.

“Who am I?” she asked the darkness. The weighty sword tucked in its leather sheathe was an unpalatable reminder. A blood mage, a Grey Warden, a mother, a charlatan, a pawn. A stranger, hated, and loved. And who had she expected to answer: The Maker, Andraste, Flemeth, Fen’harel-? There would be no weeping for the person she once was. An accident had brought her here- providence, some might argue – and hers was not the only happy ending tipping on the scales. With her future knowledge, it would be amoral to sit back and allow what had happened to echo down the timeline.

Fay turned to walk back to camp. The crisp snapping of a twig had her swearing under her breath and lifting her boot to look down. She saw nothing except mud. There was a grunting snuffle, panting, and the steady tip-tip-tap-tap of four feet. Having left her shield at camp, Fay cast a barrier with the relium and drew her sword. A large animal barreled through the bushes of hawthorn and hazel, skidding to a halt in front of her. Whining and licking its chops, the dog looked up the length of her blade. Fay didn’t lower her guard; she’d come across mabari in the Hinterlands and the Storm Coast. Sole defenders for their masters- not running in a pack as with wolves – the war dogs fought to the death, with jaws that could crush through a man’s humerus.

“Sit!”

To Fay’s amazement the dog obeyed. The mabari was still panting, though not as noisily, and a long pink tongue lolled from the corner of its mouth. Cocking its head at her, the dog’s stubby tail began to wag. There were patches of its coarse fawn fur matted with blood, though she couldn’t see any injuries.

“Not yours, I take it.” The mabari gave a single bark, as if in agreement. “Just don’t do anything stupid, okay?” The dog barked again, its tail-wagging going in overdrive as Fay slowly put her sword back into its sheathe. “Hmmm, I wonder if you came from Ostagar?” she pondered. The mabari barked twice and patted a front paw on the dirt. _One bark for yes, twice for no?_ _Created by magisters, Mabari are meant to be devilishly intelligent, so it could be a method for communication… or coincidence._

There was a collar around its neck, a glint of metal in the light filtering through the foliage. Fay knelt and stretched her hand out to the dog. It watched her movements with interest, but didn’t lunge or snap at her. She angled the name plate to read it, and found that there was instead a crest; a coat of arms depicting two birds facing each other. Fay dug into her pocket and withdrew her ring, though she didn’t really need to compare them to know they were the same.

“…Hawke?” The mabari woofed once, nuzzling at her cheek with a moist nose.

“So, this is your secret liaison? And that name again, the one that’s ‘personal’.”

Hawke’s mabari growled, spinning to face Alistair, and bared its teeth.

“Woah! Wait! He’s a friend” she said to the dog.

“A friend? Is that what you would label this as?” Alistair pointed back and forth between them a few times, and the mabari growled again. “A friendship- where one of us knows nothing about the other?”

She touched the dog’s head, scratching it behind an ear. “That’s fair. Alistair, I’m sorry-”

“No, Fay, I’ve heard that many apologies from you they’re inconsequential. Don’t bother.”

Fay couldn’t begrudge his disappointment in her. “I know I’ve been vague about a lot of things, and I want to rectify that, I really do.”

“So, why don’t you? I don’t get it, Fay… Or, well, I don’t get _you_.”

Fay put Hawke’s ring back into her pocket and stood, wiping the mud from her trousers. “I… I’m unsure, because I don’t know what I can tell you without screwing things up. And Morrigan can’t know, so I need to be sure.”

“Of what? You’re still rambling, Fay.”

“I need to be sure that I can trust you, Alistair. That what I tell you stays with you, and you alone.”

“Trust… Are you serious? You want to know if _I_ can be trusted _?!_ ” Alistair marched forwards, one hand on his sword. The mabari’s ears went back, short tail sticking up, and its lips parted to present large teeth to the warden.

“Stand down.” Hawke’s stout canine grumbled, sitting with its body pressed against her leg. “Alistair, I didn’t wake up one day and just think ‘hey, I wonder who I can fuck with’ and pick you. Maybe I am questioning your principles, which is rich coming from me, but… Please, I need an oath, that whatever I tell you will not be shared with anyone else.”

Alistair was sullen. His chin jutted, and the bridge of his nose crinkled. “Believe what you want of me, but I do not break my word. Tell me who you are, and why you joined the Grey Wardens.”


	11. Chapter 11

Morrigan and Leliana were already asleep, lying as far apart as they could get from each other in the cramped tent. Duran was snoring, passed out by the fire, and cuddling the empty bottle of whiskey. The qunari, Sten, appeared to be studying the stars, and paid no attention to Alistair and Fay’s return to camp. The men’s tent was empty, so Fay suggested they use that for now. She told Hawke’s mabari to stay outside, and although the dog gave her a pitiful look, it did as she commanded.

Alistair sat on his unfurled bedroll, and Fay chose to borrow Duran’s rather than hunker down on the ground. Alistair waited, his arms crossed.

“Right, uh, okay. Where to begin?”

“I asked who you are.”

“My name is Fay- Fay Tanner. I didn’t lie about that.”

Alistair was stone-faced. “Fine. And where are you from? You know a lot about Ferelden. As an apostate, I would imagine you and your family have had to roam- to avoid templars?”

“I’m not from Ferelden. I lived on an island- Great Britain, the United Kingdom. That’s in the northern hemisphere, on a planet called Earth. There was only one moon there, unimaginatively called ‘the moon’. We’ve walked its surface, sent rockets into space… but that’s not important now.”

Alistair shook his head. “That’s seriously the best you can do? You were going to tell me the truth, not make up some wacky story.”

“I don’t expect you to believe me, Alistair, but you asked for details of who I am, and I’m giving them to you.”

“Riiiight, so, say I run with this fantasy, what’s next? Armies of nugs?”

Fay ignored his cynicism, studying her cracked, dirty fingernails as she continued. “Armies of men. There are no dwarves, elves, or qunari. We have no blight or darkspawn, though humans still go to war, and treat each other like shit over things such as creed and religion. A base nature and intolerance are our blight spreading across the planet. Again, that’s not important now. I do, however, want your opinion on something.”

“We were discussing you, not my opinions.”

“Fucking hell, you weren’t this much of an arse-” Fay closed her eyes. He was like this because of her secrecy, she couldn’t expect him to be the same Alistair as in Redcliffe. “It’s linked. I know where Andraste’s ashes are. I want to know if you think we should go to the temple first or see what the situation is at Redcliffe and the Arl. The Temple of Sacred Ashes is about a week or more on foot from here, up in the Frostbacks.”

“How do you know where the ashes are? Nobody knows.”

“They were found- are found. When I came to Thedas, I was drawn through the fade… with my daughter, though I didn’t get that memory back until later. We died. Or didn’t. I-I’m not sure to be honest.” Alistair’s expression didn’t change. “There was a fire, and we sort of fell through. I didn’t know about the fade, spirits, demons, or magic then. I escaped fearlings, and the Nightmare, to end up in the temple. The temple was built to contain the ashes, or protect them, though I don’t know by whom. I didn’t see it before the explosion.”

“Explosion?”

“That’s a story I would prefer to tell on another day.”

She didn’t want to tell Alistair of the Grey Wardens’ involvement with Corypheus, Tevinter, blood magic, and summoning a demon army. After Ostagar, and Duncan’s death, Fay couldn’t deliver that news just yet.

“If there was an explosion, then the temple is a ruin. How are we meant to find the ashes, if they even exist?”

“They do exist, and the temple still stands. The explosion was… shit. It, it happened roughly ten years from now. I was sent back to help kill the archdemon, by Morrigan’s mother. I think you already guessed she had something to do with it, with me, after our meeting.”

“Another world, and now you’re from the future?” Alistair leant forwards to stare at her. “Andraste’s knicker-weasels, you’re a loon- a cohort of that hag and her daughter! Is this all an elaborate prank?”

“Don’t be stupid, Alistair. Morrigan can’t know of this, I told you so. She _doesn’t_ know of this because although Flemeth had a hand in my fate, it’s not for her that I do this.”

“Then who for? You were meant to make things clearer, not… not this.”

“I never said clarity, only to explain. Foremost I’m doing this for my daughter, Rebecca, and secondly for Hawke. But there are others too.”

“If you have a daughter, where is she?”

“With Flemeth.”

“And Hawke is-?”

“He’s in Kirkwall, I guess. Or on the way there. That’s where I plan to go, when this fight is over.”

“Does that have something to do with the ring, and the dog?” He was more perceptive than she gave him credit for.

“Before I left, Hawke gave me his ring and proposed. We were to be together, have a normal life. But things don’t always turn out the way you want them to. As for the mabari, I didn’t know it was Hawke’s until I saw the same family crest on the name tag. I have no clue how it tracked me, whether it was intentional, or not. Your Maker could just be poking at me for His own amusement, I don’t think it’s the first time.”

There was an awkward silence as Alistair considered what Fay had told him so far. “You wanted my opinion” he finally said. “We go to Redcliffe first. I will not traipse up mountains to find an imaginary temple.”

He hadn’t yet been through the testing encounters on his campaign to end the fifth blight. The older King Alistair had, and so easily accepted Fay’s story- without skepticism. This Alistair didn’t have those experiences to compare with yet. He plainly thought she was spinning him a yarn; a tall tale blown widely out of proportion- such as the ones Varric used to regale them with. Fay could only prove herself along the way, assuming her presence didn’t drastically alter this past-present.

“Understood” she said glumly. “The Arl is your family, I will defer to your wishes.”

“H-how did you -?” Alistair spluttered, “I never told you anything about Arl Eamon.”

“Actually, you did. In Redcliffe. We talked a lot, shared experiences of the past and future. Our families. We kept in touch by letter afterwards. That evening at the castle was far more enjoyable than this one is shaping up to be. Plus, wine and cheese.”

His neck and cheeks flushed red, eyes wide and dark. It was such a change that his demeanour scared Fay- for the first time ever she was afraid that Alistair would hurt her. “If you knew that, if _any_ of this is true… Ostagar. You were aware how it would end?!”

She should have seen that he’d put the pieces together so quickly. “I- I… yes. But, Alistair-”

“You knew there would be no victory, that they would die? That Duncan would die?”

Fay looked away, the intensity of his anger and pain boring into her heart as her own repugnance had done after the battle.

“You _did_ know,” he continues, “and yet you uttered not a word. You treated Duncan with indifference- all of us in fact – and he could have been spared such a meaningless death.”

“His death wasn’t meaningless. It was always going to happen that way, whether it hurts to lose him as a father-figure or not. I couldn’t change a thing. And who would have believed me?”

“You didn’t even try!”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Their deaths are on your conscience, and you’re fine with that?”

“No, I’m not! What do you think I am? You’re not listening, Alistair- if I’d told anyone, and the outcome changed, who knows how that would affect things. The archdemon could rally the darkspawn to sweep across Thedas in the face of defeat- sooner than the time we may have to gather retaliatory forces right now. Other factors could come into play before they’re supposed to and upset the balance."

“Duncan would be alive. With him leading the Grey Wardens in Ferelden, we would stop-”

“You haven’t seen the future I have.”

“Then tell me, or are you going to chose others to live and die at your whim?”

“That’s not how it is!”

“Duncan’s death was needless, and the loss of such a great man is your fault.”

“Jory and Daveth’s deaths were needless, unnecessary, and they died because of _him_ \- Duncan! Yet you’re too infatuated by the wardens, like Cailan. You see only what that murderer meant to you- not them – or the facts.” Fay realized too late what she had said, and it couldn’t be taken back.

Alistair’s hand stopped an inch from her face. “Get out.”

Hawke’s mabari growled and whined, picking up on the stress inside the tent between Alistair and Fay. Though Fay is shocked by Alistair’s aggression, his loss of composure is understandable. She had hit him with a low blow in the heat of their argument, a moral line she shouldn’t have crossed so carelessly.

“Get out” he repeated. “We don’t need someone like you. A snake who’ll turn against her companions for selfish motives. Take your bloody mutt, and your pathetic reasoning for allowing thousands to be torn to shreds. Leave here. Tonight.”

“Alistair…” Lowering his trembling arm, Alistair turned his back on her. “Alistair, please.” He wouldn’t change his mind over this, it was over.

Packing a small sack of provisions and taking a final look around the campsite- the sleepers unaware of the confrontation, and Sten still studiously ignoring everything – Fay numbly set out into the night. Bodahn hugged Sandal as she walked past, the mabari at her heels.

“Miss… Are you-?”

“No, Bodahn. I made a mistake. A big one. This is my fault, but stay with them, will you?”

“Aye, but wandering the woods alone…” the dwarf tried to reason.

Fay continued walking. Alistair was right, they didn’t need her. And now she had nothing, and no-one to blame except herself.


	12. Chapter 12

People’s voices dropped, and they stared at Fay as she entered the tavern: a woman alone, armed, and with a war hound shadow. She guessed she was an unusual sight for a traveler, even after confirmation of a new blight taking hold of Thedas. A shamed ex-warden, an outsider. She took a seat on a bench in the corner, pooling the last of the coins she had amassed from selling looted goods to Bodahn a few days ago. Enough for a bottle of watered down plonk and a bite to eat. Better than nothing, though she wasn’t certain what she would do once they were in the mountains.

Fay had spent the walk reflecting and trying to decide whether to take the easy option. But she couldn’t give up, not when her life was tied to so many: her daughter, Hawke, those who would later join the Inquisition. She had screwed up, that was clear, though it didn’t necessarily mean her part in this was done after all. Perhaps this was part of the path she was to stumble down, caused by her arrival in the first place. There would be no way of telling, not until the end. Maybe it was a lie she comforted herself with, to ease the suffering she felt. If so, for now she accepted it. Later that might not be the case.

Having ordered, Fay waited and listened. As expected, most weary farmers and merchants were panicked about darkspawn attacks on the roads nearby.

“Lothering is gone, overrun. Many didn’t make it out in time. Aunt Ebba’s husband…”

“I’ve seen the wagons, left to the ditches. Some with goods onboard and starved oxen hitched. The bodies… poor sods.”

“-Denerim. Declared himself regent to his daughter.”

“After what he did?”

“How can we know for certain, were you there?”

“No, but the wardens…”

Fay tuned out the conversation around her. She already knew what they were discussing, and that part of history- or present – had not altered from what she had been taught. Loghain, having declared the Grey Wardens traitors, had taken a position of power at Queen Anora’s side. Civil unrest adding to people’s woes, until the Landsmeet. Which was why, with pre-knowledge of the location of the Temple of Sacred Ashes and Haven, Fay was going to ensure that Arl Eamon was there to usurp Loghain’s hold and return things to the status quo.

“Here you go, miss.” The innkeep, a balding, sweaty man in his forties, brought over her bowl of stew and a bottle of brandy to the table.

“Thank you.”

“Anything else I can get you?” he asked.

“No, that’s fine” Fay assured him.

He wiped his hands on his apron. “A courtesy, miss… if you are one of them” he said quietly, for her ears only. “There was an elf here this morning asking about you lot. Be careful.” Warning given, the man hurried back behind the safety of his counter.  

An elf? It wouldn’t be Solas- Fay had not felt his presence in the Fade, and she hadn’t been doing much sleeping anyway. Flemeth would hide her from him, she was certain, as she was Rebecca. If Fen’harel detected Flemeth’s intent, then he was privy to an understanding that Fay hadn’t had imparted to her as a player in this game. Fay would be of little interest to him. So, who would be asking after ‘her kind’?

“Oh. Shit.” Wasn’t there an assassin, an associate of the spymaster? Leliana had mentioned an elf, a former employee of the Crows, a guild of assassins. He had aided the Inquisition in rooting out some Venatori working for a lord in Antiva. Fay couldn’t remember any names, but the more she considered it, the more certain she was that it would be the same elf. And now he was in the area, no doubt hired by Loghain to put down any Grey Wardens after his other henchmen failed.

Bob pawed at her knee, begging for a chunk of the stringy meat. Fay relented, the dog’s big eyes her undoing. He swallowed it in one, stumpy tail bumping against the flagstones. Fay had named the mabari for his bobbed tail and bouncing gait. A silly name, but she couldn’t keep referring to him as ‘Hawke’s mabari’, or simply ‘dog’. Bob was a good boy, always alert and _mostly_ obedient. He did have an impulsive thing for nugs, and butterflies, chasing off after them with a happy bark; though at least one of them was enjoying the trip. He snuggled with her when she rested, clambering under the covers of her bedroll with his head on her chest. His breath left something to be desired.

“We’re going to have to switch to night-time journeys, Bob. Not liking the idea of that.”

Bob woofed, plucking the next piece of meat delicately from her fingers. Fay’s appetite had gone. She would have to make the bottle last, hope that the innkeep didn’t kick her out, and wait for dusk.

Nothing was familiar anymore, and Fay missed routine. When she had been a part of the Inquisition, she had people around her that she could trust- that cared about her and their goal. They put themselves in front of her, often literally, and she tried to do the same for them. That was when she had the anchor. And the titles that came with it: Herald, Inquisitor. Friend. Damn she missed those days. Cassandra and Blackwall’s training, playing Wicked Grace with Varric and Sera, trips with Solas into the fade to converse with spirits and see glimpses of the life she left behind. It all seemed so long ago. A year? It felt longer.

Fay wondered where they were now, and what they were doing. Hawke would be with his family, unaware of her existence. Could he love her- or would it be different this turn? Did she deserve him to take her in his arms again, to forgive her for the person she was becoming? Her actions, her inactions and silence, they were all selfish when drilled down to the core of it: she wanted her daughter back. Saving Thedas from the perils due to emerge in the next decade were all secondary to that for her. Rebecca was alive, and with Flemeth. Would anyone do this differently in her shoes? _Yes, there are better people than me,_ Fay thought.

Dorian would be in Minrathous, far from her reach, feeling guilty at not living up to his father’s expectations. Being cajoled, and threatened, his father trying to get him to agree to enter a marriage solely for breeding power and status, not love- and especially not love for another man. A despicable thing to put on someone, especially your own child. Fay hoped Felix was there to support him. Were they working on that amulet with Alexius- the one that cursed her with relium and visions of the future at Redcliffe? It wasn’t as if she could warn Dorian or prevent him abiding his mentor’s wishes. Changing that would alter too much, the relium was a part of her. A defense, an aid, a curse.

Then there was Cullen, a young man- a templar – stationed at Kinloch Hold. Soon to fall into horror and blood, his mind twisted against mages and a drug addiction strangling him. A man she still loved, and always carried in her heart as she had told him she would. He helped Fay to heal, to fight, endure… but lost himself, and her, along the way. The circle would fall, and his Brothers. Meredith awaited him in Kirkwall, and with the relium taint in her blood, Cullen wouldn’t trust her any more than Alistair if she tracked him down. She was a blood mage, and he wouldn’t flinch at having her hauled in and made tranquil for that.

Leliana, Morrigan, Sten, Duran, and Alistair would kill the archdemon, as they had done so before. They didn’t need her, but Flemeth and Fay needed them. When Urthemial doesn’t die by her hand, what then? Purgatory of repetition?

The bottle was empty, and a spiraling grey murk taking root inside. Everything, and everyone, she comes into contact with is ruined. Fay doesn’t just make mistakes, she is the mistake. How well she knows this depression, treading through treacle and sinking into an alcohol induced self-pity.

Bob’s barking has the tavern glaring over at her table in displeasure, except the innkeep who had caught Fay’s eye with a clear expression of distress. She knows who has just sat down opposite her, and that would be the perfect end to it all, wouldn’t it?

A glass is pushed across the table to her. “The Antivan Crows send their regards.”

Fay focuses on the blond elf, a tattoo sweeping down from his left eye to the jaw of two black lines like claw marks. The assassin she was going to attempt to avoid. She snorted with laughter, raising an eyebrow at him playfully as his forehead creased in confusion. “I- I’m not drennken thart poison” she slurred.

“My dear, nothing but the best Ferleden red. That is all” he lied. His skin is unmarred and bronzed, healthy. Fay wanted to see if it was as soft as it looked.

“Yer teeth arr veeery white” she told him. “But I’mma still not dreenken thart. Been poisoned afore… ago… ‘urt like fuck.” Fay went to pat Bob on the head reassuringly, missed, and slapped her thigh. She burst into giggles.

“I- I could find another way, less pleasant and involving more blood.”

Fay nodded. “Suuuure.” She sat bolt upright and pointed at the elf in triumph. “Zevran! Now I’mma ‘memberin yer name. Hah! Took furver… was sittin’ ere and cud I ‘member, no. But, now. Pfft.”

Zevran’s smile fades. “My dear, I assure you that we have not met.”

“Nup. But good to meet yer anysohow. ‘Fore yer kill me, at thart rate.”

“Andraste have mercy, I’m certainly not being paid enough for this.” Zevran waved the innkeep over and had a harried exchange that Fay couldn’t keep up with. The wine was taken away, and a few moments later two new glasses appeared. She squinted at them, yes- two, not four - and back to Zevran.

“Fink I’mma need…” she held up her hand and tried to make three fingers fold down. Fay gave up.

“One of those is for me.”

“Aww, c’mon. Gud lookin’ guy like yer dun need to top yerself too. ‘Sides, I’m porbly easy target yer gonna get. Then yer no need to leave them flappy whatshits.” She waved her hands at him to signify a bird. Fay knew it was big, glossy, and bloody noisy.

“The Crows.” Zevran said. He drained his glass and watched Fay as she picked up hers.

She clasped it with both hands and took a sip. “Hmmm. No poison?”

“No poison.”

“Aha, blood yer kink. I undermerstand.”

“I may regret this, but there is something about…” The elf sighed. “What say you sober up and give me some answers?”

“An then the stebbity stab? Jus’ mek it qwik willya? Small mercies an all.”

“My dear, I shall see what I can do.”

Fay winked at him. “I like yer, mister assassination Zevran. So, uhm, porbly best I dun dreenken on empty stomach no more.”

“Sound advice.” Zevran turned back to the nervous innkeep. “Can we get a jug of water over here?”


	13. Chapter 13

“What do you mean she’s gone?!” Duran paced back and forth with his axe swinging in an arc before him at every step. The warden didn’t seem to be doing it deliberately, or with any real targeted direction in mind, but Alistair intended to stay well out of his way just to be sure.

Alistair crossed his arms- something he’d found himself doing a lot of lately – and straightened his back.

“I told Fay to go, and not bother in returning. She was a liar, manipulating us all for some agenda of her own. She told me… things. The woman was deranged!”

Alistair had gotten little sleep. He was still seething, and that overruled his reasoning. He shouldn’t have kicked her out, but he couldn’t forget how she had sat there and disgraced Duncan’s name. The Grey Wardens were everything to him.

Alistair would keep his word, even though Fay hadn’t earnt his devotion or discretion. He would prove… prove what, and to whom? She wasn’t here anymore. Maker, he was a mess- why wouldn’t this stop picking at him?

“Oh, she told you things,” Duran said mockingly, “so you kicked her out of camp? You’re a nug-humping fool, Alistair.”

“I’m a -? What? Why are you angry with me?!”

“Because,” the dwarf rounded on him, “out there are darkspawn by the thousands.” He pointed with his axe head to the woods. “You just sent a woman to face them by herself, just because you didn’t like some _things_ she told you. Weren’t you the one wanting her to confide whatever it was bugging her, and now you’re not happy she did?”

“She let them… Argh!” Alistair balled his hands into fists. “Fay called Duncan a murderer- I couldn’t…”

“He stabbed Ser Jory, thrust his sword through the boy’s stomach! By my reckoning she was correct.”

“How dare you! You’re taking her side?!”

Leliana stepped between them. “Enough, the pair of you, please. The Maker would not want us divided like this. Not with so much at stake. The blight is the important thing, no? We must not lose sight of why we are together in the first place.”

“We’re together because of Fay” Duran threw back.

“That may be so, but the darkspawn will not wait idly for you to shout at each other about this.”

“Mayhap the wardens wish to sit around doing nothing? Shall we see if the archdemon quakes in fear, returns to its abyssal pit? If only to lessen the screeching of despair joining the dawn chorus” Morrigan chirped.

Sarcastic witch, why couldn’t she have left with Fay too?

“This isn’t up for discussion anymore. It’s done, Duran” Alistair said.

“As you made this mess, I refuse to step in as Fay did. So, what’s your plan?”

This threw him as he hadn’t thoroughly considered that far ahead. Alistair had been more concerned with damage limitation- for all the good it had done him. With no clue where the sacred ashes were, going to Redcliffe and seeing what intel they could garner regarding Eamon seemed crucial. The Arl might not even be that ill; he needed to see his uncle himself. We’ll do that, he decided, and then… make it up as we go.  

“Redcliffe. We head to Redcliffe and gather allies under Arl Eamon’s employ” he said, trying to sound confident.

“And that’s it- you’re casting Fay aside to the darkspawn?”

“She could be anywhere by now. Besides, I just said the subject isn’t up for debate.”

Duran didn’t answer, but his disapproval was clear. The dwarf picked up his pack and slung it over his shoulder, and the others did the same.

Bodahn and his son were subdued, but the dwarves were willing to accompany the party further and carry their bulkier items – tents and sleeping bags – on their hand-pulled wagon. Only Sten appeared unmoved about Fay being sent away, which Alistair was thankful for. He didn’t fancy his chances against the qunari.

If Alistair wanted to - and he had convinced himself that he didn’t – they wouldn’t find Fay anyhow. A night of walking, assuming she hadn’t stopped to sleep, or run across any enemies she couldn’t handle alone, could still have taken her nearly thirty miles in any direction. He had an idea where she was likely to go. If she were even bothered to do anything to help the wardens now. She was welcome to the mountains: the snow, the depressing grey, and wind so cold it makes breathing a chore.

Fay’s calumny had been spiteful, but it wasn’t the only fuel for Alistair’s anger- it was Duncan himself. An impression, an illusionary wraith of the Warden-Commander, lectured him from beyond the grave. He vilified Alistair’s emotional blinkering, reminding him of their purpose. Grey Wardens welcome all with open arms, discounting past misdemeanors or prejudices as unimportant. For as long as they fight, against the taint and the darkspawn, they are brothers and sisters.

 _Fay was the one to turn that aside._ No, she warned you that what she had to reveal would be damaging. And what if it was all as she thought- how drastic would it be to change one thing? _Alistair, your impulse was unworthy. Fay could have warned them, but to defeat a horde that size. It was not her responsibility. It was Cailan’s, Duncan’s… Loghain’s. If it were possible, it would have been done without her interference._

It was a circular argument, and it upset him more than the cut of Fay’s tongue. Banishing her had been beneath him, beneath the wardens, and he knew it. Whomever takes sword in hand after the joining is to be considered equal to the man or woman standing with them.

War is a nightmare: crying, begging, last kisses, piss and shit, blood, death. Victory comes to those unified in intent, their grit, iron and steel, and teamwork. If one falls, another must be willing to step in their place to hold the line. Fay had done that, for him and Duran, despite what she thought to be the truth about Duncan. Alistair had rendered his judgement in haste, had held her accountable for her past misgivings without full disclosure of what was going on. And he was still doing so.

Alistair had wanted to solidify his bonds with his last remaining Brother and Sister. To thank Fay for her insistence that the wardens would prevail and succeed. For being there in his grief- though that stirred a sour taste on his tongue considering her viewpoint. Yet, the good was obscured in shadow, discredited and forgotten for one lapse of civility. A disagreement over one person- and Duran thought the same of Duncan as she did. How could that be so?

Stomping out the embers of their fire, Alistair checked his equipment and looked over the campsite one last time. It was quiet. Not just because no-one was talking to each other, but because _she_ was missing: the one who kept them moving onward. Could he do that? You must, Alistair, he thought glumly. She isn’t coming back- you made sure of that.


	14. Chapter 14

Fay stretched, opened her eyes, and immediately had to fight the urge to roll over and expel the contents of her stomach onto the floor. Damnit, why did she get herself into a state like this? Pathetic… and technically over a man. Of all the worthless reasons.

“Good morning.”

Zevran. Fay would have pulled the bedcovers up over her head and hidden if she could have gotten away with it. She’d gone beyond the point of drunk to completely wasted, all whilst sitting with an assassin sent to kill her. Frankly she was amazed he hadn’t just gone ahead and put her out of her misery after all.

She groaned. “I made an utter spectacle of myself, didn’t I?”

“Ah, only a little. Come now, I’ve encountered worse. You’ve clearly never been to an Orlesian ball.”

“Actually, I have. Ugh, is there any more water? My mouth feels like I’ve been gargling sand.”

Zevran poured and handed her a glass of water, then returned to his seat by the window. He carved off thick slices of ham from a hock with one of his daggers, offering a few tidbits to Bob. The dog wagged his stumpy tail and woofed in appreciation.

“I see you two have come to an understanding.”

“Food is the way to a dog’s heart.” Zevran winked at her. “I’m very good at finding the way to _any_ heart, amongst other things.”

Fay nearly choked on her water. “Woah, wow… I mean... no.”

Zevran chuckled, popping another piece of meat into his mouth. Bob put a paw on his leg as if to say ‘hey, don’t forget me’.

“You are greedy, my friend. I think you’ve had quite enough already” the elf chastised him.

The mabari gave the assassin a hurt look, grumbled, and flopped onto the floor at his feet.

“So…” Fay twisted the drained glass in her hands.

“So” Zevran echoed. He nonchalantly continued with his breakfast, though Fay could see he was waiting for her to broach the subject first.

“Why didn’t you kill me?” she asked.

Zevran sighed and then nodded. It was the question he expected. And why wouldn’t it be? The crow had found his target, inebriated and vulnerable, and instead of carrying out the contract had opted to spare her life.

“I will not lie, Grey Warden. I contemplated doing so as you lay sleeping.” He pointed the dagger at her. “It would have taken no effort at all. Yet…” Zevran looked troubled. “I could not ignore what you told me.”

“The story of a drunkard.”

“Perhaps. Though we both know that it cannot be dismissed as simply in the light of day.”

“Alistair chose to turn his back and plug his fingers into his ears rather than hear the same story.”

What was wrong with her? Why was she saying things that sounded like an argument against Zevran’s decision to not stick a knife in her back? _You’re messed up, Fay. Get a grip._

“Alistair?” Zevran snapped his fingers. “Ah! One of the other wardens. Well, can you honestly tell me his reaction was unexpected?” he asked. “A woman who stepped through a magic portal to stop the blight and avert a terrible future?”

Fay shook her head. “Summed up like that, no, I guess not. It- it hurts, more than anything” she admitted. “You accept what Alistair wouldn’t, and I thought I knew him... But, I guess I brought that upon myself. I didn’t think… before I… Alistair was justified in sending me away. I just wish I had taken a different approach. Handled things better.”

A wagon’s wheels rumbled on the trackway past the tavern and hastily muttered, short exchanges of conversation between people could be heard outside. There was no laughter. Refugees trying to move out of the way from the blight’s reach didn’t have much to be joyful for. These were melancholy days stretching into darkness.

Zevran broke the contemplative silence. “I believe that I have become a good judge of character” he said. “It has not always been so. I have been duped, coerced, and lied to… But, our mistakes make us more vigilant for the future. Or they should.”

Fay couldn’t disagree with Zevran’s sentiment, but she’d made a ton of errors despite knowing what the ‘correct’ steps should be in this tricky Courante.

“We aren’t infallible” she said.

Zevran’s easy smile reappeared. “No, we are not. And that, dear warden, is just part of life.” The elf put his knife down on the plate next to what was left of the hock and pushed it aside. “You said I help the Grey Wardens end the blight?”

“Yes.”

“Well then. I feel-” Zevran struggled to find the right words.

“Feel what?” Fay asked with caution.

“I feel… that fulfilling the contract on your head would be the wrong thing to do” he said. “It will cause me no end of headaches, but I will accompany you and see where this journey takes us.”


	15. Chapter 15

The ascent to Haven had started out promising. There were none of the familiar paths, but Fay had travelled the route so many times before that she didn’t need them to know they were going in the right direction.

Zevran didn’t question her navigation, and with the bow and quiver they’d pilfered - along with warmer jackets, gloves, a small tent, an additional sleeping bag, and some dried rations – the elf had proven himself to be an excellent marksman. This shouldn’t have surprised her, but Fay had assumed Zevran was more accustomed to stealing what he needed and therefore wouldn’t possess the skills to be self-sufficient.

Lugging packs and weapons through the snow was hard work. They shared the tent, including Bob, and Fay woke every morning huddled against Zevran for warmth. The elf didn’t mind the close contact, and Fay declined his offer of ‘other ways’ he could raise her temperature.

As the days passed, the awkwardness between them lessened. Zevran was charismatic, always ready with a not-so-subtle suggestion that was either groans-worthy or amusing. Usually both. He helped – unprompted – with setting up and breaking down their camp and took Bob with him to gather firewood. Thanks to his successful hunting, the three of them had fresh meat each night and could save the preserved food for when game was scarce.

On the fifth day, two days away from Haven, Fay noticed Bob was acting odd. The mabari whined and huffed, nipping at her trouser legs as she trudged on through the thick layers of ice and snow.

“Bob, seriously, enough” Fay said after his third repetition of tugging.

The dog sat on its haunches and stared at her- a look that said: ‘I’m dealing with idiots’.

“What is it? Your paws cold? If you’d let me wrap them with the linen bandages in my bag like I wanted to, you wouldn’t be having this issue.” She dropped her shield and shrugged off her pack, kneeling stiffly to examine his feet. Bob backed away, pointed his nose to the sky, and let out an unearthly howl.

Zevran placed a hand on her shoulder, making her jump, and said: “There… I believe that is what our canine friend is trying to draw our attention to.” Fay looked, following Zevran’s finger, and swore. Behind them, to the west, the sky was quickly darkening under a featureless grey-blue sheet of cloud. “A storm approaching. We need to find shelter.”

“Hopefully there’s a large overhang we can duck under…” In indecision, Fay looked to Bob. “What do you think, Bob?” The mabari stood, scanned the landscape and barked. He bounded a few metres and stopped, looking back at them to see if they were following. Fay collected her stuff and shrugged at Zevran.

“You lead a strange life, Fay.”

“Don’t I know it. Come on then, but best keep your fingers crossed.”

This was apparently not widely known in Antiva.

“Cross them?” Zevran held a hand in front of his face. “I’m not sure I’m understanding how this will help us?”

“It’s an expression, to keep hoping things will turn out okay.”

“I see. A strange life, and even stranger idioms.”

“You should have met some of my other companions…”

Bob struck proverbial gold. How he did it, she didn’t know, but after a few minutes the three of them stood shivering in front of an opening in the rockface.

“Well, well.” Zevran patted Bob on the head and the mabari’s tongue lolled from his mouth.

“At this stage, I’m willing to admit the dog is smarter than I am.”

The elf winked at her, his tip of his nose turning red from the cold. “Ah, come now. No need to put yourself down.”

Fay entered first, but Bob came charging from behind and nearly knocked her down. He barked, wagged his tail, and made it clear that he didn’t smell or sense any threats. Fay lowered her shield and re-sheathed her sword. There was a chafe of leather as Zevran returned his daggers to their holders.

“A few old bones, deer perhaps… Nothing recent” Fay said, noticing the pile of previous feasts in a corner. The wind, whipping into a frenzy, blew across the mouth of the cave and wailed at them. “We’ll need a fire, there’s no knowing how long this storm will last.”

Zevran whistled to Bob and the dog trotted to his side.

“Take care out there and return soon” she told them.

“My dear, are you so worried for my safety?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Fay’s answer seemed to unsettle Zevran.

“Oh.” He looked away, perhaps to consider a reply, but tapped Bob on the back to signal they were moving on. “Make certain you remember the way back” the elf instructed. Bob, his dopey expression disguising his intelligence, woofed an affirmative.

She busied herself while they were gone, though it didn’t quell the unease. They were taking too long and the dim light outside was reminiscent of evening, not mid-morning. What if they were lost? She had their only food, water, blankets, medical supplies- as limited as they were.

_Finally._ Footsteps and snow crunching. Fay rushed out to greet them in relief, only to halt in confusion. There were two men, and neither one was Zevran.

“Told ya, knew them prints weren’t no locals” one said. His grimy hatchet was plainly not used for chopping trees. Hunters? They were as grubby and stained as hunters might be. Or butchers. They wore ragged furs and layers of wool clothing suitable for the terrain and the weather. ‘No locals’- were they from Haven? Their toothless grins were sinister.

“Aye, she’ll do nicely” the second man replied.

Fay swallowed a few times nervously, her heart thudding. “C-can I help you?”

“Surely, lass. Not much to ya, but yous’ll do.”

Fay’s relium swelled, flooding through her body as she spun around. One of the men whooped as the pair gave chase. This was a game to them, but she bet they didn’t expect a woman to fight back.

A bony hand gripped Fay’s arm; they were faster than she’d thought they would be. Her sword was too far away, lying on her bedroll set out at the back of the cavern. No matter. She twisted in the man’s grasp and used the only weapon available- she punched her assailant, hard. There was a crack of bones and a shower of blood.

“Betch brek me nuss!” The scrawny attacker let go and clutched at his face, snotty blood oozing over his fingers.

Fay grabbed her sword and yanked it free, holding it out in front of her defensively.

“Fuckin’ lively one ‘ere, Sid. Stop yer whingin’ and grab ‘er!”

“You want to die?” Fay asked them. “I don’t know who you crazies are, or whether you’re from Haven or not, but this is your last warning.”

Sid, the skinnier one who’s nose she’d broken, glanced at his mate. “How she get dat, ‘ubert?”

“I don’t fuckin’ care, Sid. Does it matter? Shes gonna be a fine offerin’, priest’ll be right chuffed.” Hubert made a hacking motion with his axe and gave her another disgusting grin.

Fay’s sword stayed steady. A shadow flickered across the entrance, but she focused on the two men now advancing on her in the gloom. Sid dropped first, a curved dagger jutting from his back.

“What the fu-”

“Such language” Zevran’s voice drawled. “Apologize to the lady.”

“Ya killt ‘im!”

“I did. Ferelden will not mourn his loss, nor yours.” Zevran smiled, and it was even more sinister than either of theirs. Fay was glad the elf was, for the moment, on her side.

Hubert lunged at Fay, slashing at her with his axe. It was a clumsy, hasty blow which she deflected easily. Zevran sprang to finish the man off, slicing his throat with an almost theatrical flourish. He spat on the body with contempt.

“You are unharmed?”

The relium faded and her arm shook. Fay lowered her sword and nodded to Zevran, unable to speak as the adrenaline buzz waned. She felt tired.

“Fay?” He helped her to sit. “Maldición, Fay, please tell me you are well.” Icy hands clasped at her cheeks.

“I-I’m fine, Zevran. Just… a shock. Where’s Bob?”

“I told him to wait outside.”

Zevran whistled and Bob, after shaking snowflakes from his short fur, pranced over to Fay, putting his head in her lap. He was distressed, chest heaving with silent whimpers she could feel but not hear. She sat, watching Zevran build the fire, and petted Bob distractedly.  

“Surely you are not that averse to killing?” Zevran queried. He was cleaning his daggers and inspecting them for nicks.

Fay wondered how long she’d been looking but not seeing, hearing but not listening. The bodies of the men were gone, though globs of congealing gore marked where each had fallen. Zevran must have dragged them out and she hadn’t even registered it. He’d even managed to innovate a way of blocking most of the cave entrance with one of the tent’s canvas panels to stop the snow piling in on them.

“Shit” she rubs at her eyes, “I’m sorry, Zevran. I’ve just been thinking about what they said… Those men, they were from Haven.”

“Did they know you? A score to settle, perhaps?”

“No. I- I was there before, but not now. Th-they were talking about making me an offering… for a priest.”

“A sacrifice? I thought cults like that only existed in places like Tevinter.”

“It doesn’t sound anything like the Haven I defended.” Fay didn’t elaborate, and Zevran didn’t insist that she did.

When Zevran said: “We will find a way”, Fay knew he meant it. But, blood sacrifice? Darkspawn she could detect, not fanatics and demons.


	16. Chapter 16

Alistair became more and more agitated with every step. The road to Redcliffe was empty: no people, no animals, no darkspawn. They all felt it, the _wrongness_ hanging over the area. Morrigan had been silent for the last hour or so, peering hawk-like at their surroundings with her lips pressed thin. Sten’s reticence was nothing new, and Duran was still sulking- giving yes or no answers when he had to. Leliana’s mouth moved, but he only caught a word or two of the prayer she was whispering to herself.

When they got to the bridge, Alistair was on tenterhooks. The village looked deserted; the streets were empty, and many buildings had been boarded up. What in the Maker’s name was going on- had the darkspawn swept through already? His heart sank. Had she known this too? But no, if Eamon was dead why would she have suggested going after the urn?

“You, ser! Over here!” A soldier wearing the armour of Redcliffe’s militia breached the rise and waved at them.

“Afternoon. Well met…?”

“Tomas, ser. Likewise yourself, and your companions.”

Alistair made their introductions and shook the soldier’s hand enthusiastically. The lad was young, not a face he knew, but Alistair was relieved Redcliffe wasn’t abandoned after all.

“I thought there would be more of you, but no matter. We will be grateful for any help you can give us.”

“Help? Of course, but what’s going on?”

Tomas’ smile disappeared. “Oh. I thought… You weren’t sent to fight the undead?”

“U-und-dead?” Alistair stuttered.

“Yes, ser. It would be best I take you to the Chantry. Bann Teagan can explain, if you’re willing?”

The smell of salt and algae grew stronger as they descended to the square. When he lived at the castle, Alistair found the sea air repulsive. Later - when Isolde sent him away - he had missed it. Today the scent made him feel queasy, just as it had when he was a child. There was also another underlying odor: rotten, spoiled meat. It wasn’t fish.

“In there, ser.” Tomas stopped in front of the chantry. “Excuse me, I must report to the mayor. He’s the one making arrangements for tonight.”

Morrigan was as far from empathetic or religious as anyone could get and the Chantry in Lothering had locked Sten in a cage, so their refusals to enter came as no shock. Leliana and Duran followed Alistair into the choking smog of incense and waxy candle smoke, where it seemed the entirety of the village’s women and children had been gathered together.

“I will see what I can do for the Revered Mother” Leliana said and made her way to the sisters with their heads bowed before the altar.

“Alistair?” Teagan strode over to him and broke into a huge grin. “It really _is_ you!!”

“Uncle Teagan.”

Duran looked from Alistair to Teagan with an eyebrow raised. Alistair had forgotten to mention his relationship to the Arl and Bann- Fay was the only one who’d known.

“Ah, please. You make me feel old!” Teagan protested lightly. “I can’t believe you’re the same little boy who ran around the castle grounds covered in mud.”

His uncle hadn’t changed much, though his cheer couldn’t hide his weariness from Alistair.

“I still run around covered in mud,” Alistair said with a bitter smile, “more noticeably after Ostagar. Camping in the wilds does that to you.”

Teagan ushered the pair to a corner and lowered his voice. “I was aggrieved when Loghain began to spew his lies about it to us in Denerim. The Grey Wardens didn’t kill the king- only a fool would believe such. And now he’s declared himself Regent… A blight upon us, and Loghain wants to start a civil war with his conniving and petty greed.”

“Loghain will get what is coming to him” Alistair promised.

“I pray you are right, Alistair. There’s enough going on without backstabbing and a grab for power tearing Ferelden apart.”

“I heard Eamon is ill?”

“My brother has been bedridden for weeks” Teagan confirmed with sadness, “and no healer was able to rouse him. There were suspicions of poison, but… I am loathed to say I think it may be too late. I don’t know what magic is at work, but the undead attack Redcliffe each night. They come from the castle and no men sent there ever return. Our numbers are dwindling.”

The Arl’s soldiers could have secured the castle’s residential chambers with Eamon inside. There was hope.

“Duran…?”

“Kid, it’s not like I would leave anyone to fight monsters alone.”

“Yes, I deserved that one didn’t I” Alistair said. “Alright, uncle, talk me through the available defences.”


	17. Chapter 17

The blizzard had masked their tracks, and the bodies of the two hunters. It began to let-up on the third day and was gone by the fourth. Those three days had Fay pacing around the small cave with her sword in hand, certain Zevran was lost- that he wouldn’t return. He made regular short trips to collect brush from a thicket he said was close by. Fay couldn’t tell, she couldn’t see anything through the battery of snow. Yet he and Bob would return, Zevran’s cheeks red and fingers hitched stiffly around the stack held to his chest. Without him, Fay was positive that she wouldn’t have survived.

Their food stocks had been paltry to begin with and it was disappearing fast. Any game in the area had fled for shelter just as they had. What if this happened again? The weather in the Frostbacks was unpredictable, and this wasn’t the first blizzard she’d experienced here.

“We may not be able to avoid Haven, Fay. To pinch provisions will surely mean we are seen- if not our tent, then the smoke from our fire.”

“I was thinking the same…” Fay admitted. She considered what to do. “Then we play it cool” she said. “We haven’t seen anyone else… I mean, there was a blizzard. It’s credible that they got caught in it, right?”

Zevran nodded. “Seen who?” he answered.

They hastened on, though the tall drifts made progress slow. By late afternoon of the third day, food almost gone, the timber shacks and cabins of Haven came into view. The closer the three got, the more Bob growled. A bad omen.

“I have your back” Zevran said quietly.

Fay walked the path around the frozen lake and on towards the first cluster of buildings. _The soldiers trained here with Cullen. His tent was pitched here, and Cassandra’s practice dummies over there by that log pile…_

“Fay?”

Unaware that she’d stopped, Fay mumbled an apology to Zevran and carried on. The smithy and stables were gone, and there was no palisade fence or gate. She could see the chantry on the rise of the hill, yet even that was different to how she remembered.  

“I spent so long here, but I’m a stranger… It feels weird.”

“This place is unsettling. Where are the people?”

The path split, and Fay chose to go left up to where Varric’s campfire had been- will be. Leliana would have liked to see the temple, she thought, but perhaps she will have the opportunity before it’s destroyed. Fay never asked if she had; the Nightingale was a rather daunting figure. How would the next decade shape this woman of faith? Fay would have to return to the wardens to find out, and the only way she could win back some favour with Alistair was by retrieving the urn.

Sitting on the low wall on the ridge was a boy. Bob woofed and wagged his stumpy tail, bowing down on his front legs as if he were a puppy wanting to play. The boy slid from his perch and hesitated, smiling with a child’s innocent hope at making a new friend.

Keeping her tone light, Fay called: “Hey. How are you?”

The war hound rolled onto his back, and the boy inched closer, kneeling to rub Bob’s belly after a few more insistent woofs and wags of his tail. The boy didn’t look up at them or answer.

“We’re… uh, merchants, just traveling through. Our wagon got stuck you see” Zevran offered. The boy still didn’t say anything. Fay looked at Zevran and shrugged.

“Are you parents around?” she asked. “Or anyone, actually. There must be an adult we can talk to. Where can we find them?”

“Not s’posed to talk to travelers” came the boy’s short response.

“Ah, come now. You will not get into trouble” Zevran said with a smile. “We are quite harmless.”

“Not s’posed to” the boy repeated, “priest said so.”

“Is that where everyone is- in the chantry?” Fay asked him.

“I like your dog” the boy said, “but I jus’ ain’t allowed to tell.”

The scruffy kid patted Bob once more and then rose, running down the path away from Fay and Zevran. There was the faint thump of a door closing and Bob whined at the disappearance of his new potential playmate and petter. Zevran indicated for Fay to stay still so he could lean and whisper in her ear.

“If everyone else is in the chantry, what say you to some good old-fashioned snooping?”

“We should see what this priest is up to. I didn’t expect there to be a child here... what if he’s in danger too?” Fay whispered back.

“Then let’s find out.”

Fay kept watch as Zevran tried the door of the hut behind them, which had been Seggrit’s lodgings, and they ducked inside unseen. There was a candle on a table with a short wick left burning by the absent occupant, and the light was enough to see what stained the floor and a rudimentary constructed stone altar. They both took a sharp intake of breath, and Fay found herself clutching at Zevran’s arm.

“Th-that’s a human skull…  a spine… They’re sacrificing people?!” 

“And, uh, eating them” Zevran pointed to bloody utensils, bones, and hunks of meat hanging from hooks. Fay managed to make it back outside before throwing up. She’d seen a lot, but nothing compared to the evil inside that hut. To take people, sacrifice and eat them? What had made the people of Haven become so degenerate, to turn them into cannibals?

“What the hell do we do, Zevran?”

The assassin looked sullen. “Now, I think we must defend ourselves.” Somehow the villagers had become aware of their trespass and were charging down the slope from the chantry with pitchforks, axes, and knives. A spotter? Magic? Fay didn’t know, but the men weren’t going to just allow them to leave. The muscles in her gut tender and her sword arm trembling, Fay detached the shield from its fastenings and raised her relium barrier.   


	18. Chapter 18

Alistair waited for Teagan outside the chantry. His uncle and the mayor, Murdock, had gone to give the villagers the good news. The village was safe for one more day and there had been no more casualties. Teagan wanted to capitalize on their success; they would try to enter Redcliffe castle, the sooner the better. It was dawn, and though everyone was tired and little bruised, there would be no more undead until the following night.

Morrigan was prodding one of the undead corpses still to be gathered for burning with her boot, and had a finger pressed to her lips in rumination. She had informed Alistair that the veil felt weakened near the castle, and that the necromancy at work was likely the result of blood magic and demon summoning. A hostile takeover by a mage? Demons? Alistair didn’t like the sound of that, though Morrigan remained fascinated at the black magic involved rather than concerned.

Sten was cleaning the greatsword he’d been outfitted with by the militia, ignoring the restless glances from Ser Perth’s knights. The qunari had not seen the worth to fighting for the village, and some of them overheard his argument with Duran to that effect. He was unimpressed at the ‘diversion’ and having to aid fishermen and farmers that were too weak to protect themselves. At least he’d hewn through the undead swarm enthusiastically. Alistair was certain the warrior was in cahoots with the witch to continuously criticize his decisions. 

“This would have settled heavily upon me if we had not done something. After Lothering… the people of Ferelden have few who can defend them” Leliana said walking over to stand with him.

“Do you consider events such as these to be tests imposed by the Maker?” Alistair asked out of interest.

“The Maker turned his back until we can prove ourselves worthy of His attention again. To cause this, no, I do not think He would do so. But, it is the opportunity for us to show Him that we can shed our selfishness and greed.”

“When the archdemon is dead, you think He will return?”

“It is not for me to try and clarify His reasons and motives, but I do believe He is aware of our plight.  When this is over… maybe it will be enough. But, perhaps not- only He can judge that of us. Do you not have faith? You were a Templar, no?”

“I never completed my training, and as for faith…? Not especially. I suppose I try to act with principles, just it isn’t…” Alistair started to fold his arms across his chest and made himself drop them back to his sides.

Leliana smiled. It wasn’t an unkind smile, but consoling. “You regret Fay leaving, don’t you?” she said.

“I’ve been thinking about it” he confessed.

“The Maker may guide her back to the wardens. Can we say that this is not part of His plan? You said she knows where to find the urn.” Leliana tucked her hair behind her ear. “I would have liked to have seen it” she added, her eyes filled with longing. “Though if Fay succeeds, then perhaps I will have the chance… and so will you.”

“Alistair, you ready?” Teagan called.

His uncle trotted down the steps and smacked him sportively on the shoulder. Duran was shaking hands with the dwarven mercenary he’d talked into fighting with the militia and caught sight of the others heading for the chantry. Once he convened with them, the five companions followed Teagan to the windmill on the hillside overlooking the village.

“Err, why are we here and not the gate?”

“I haven't been able to get a response to unbar the gate for several days” Teagan said.

“Then how are we meant to get into the castle?” Alistair asked.

“There is a secret tunnel in this mill, which leads into the dungeons and out from the cellar. It will take us to the inner….”

“Teagan! Teagaaaaaan!!”

Everyone turned at the interruption, though Alistair didn’t have to. He recognized that Orleasian squawking. Isolde had gathered up her skirts and was stumbling in her heels down the rocky slope from the gate.

“Teagan! You’re alright, thank the Maker.” The Arlessa brushed past them, only interested in his uncle, and babbled: “You must come with me. I promised, just you. We need to go back to him.”

“Isolde, calm down. Is my brother safe? What’s going on?” Teagan demanded.

“It’s been terrible, Teagan. The Arl still sleeps, but Connor... Oh please, you need to come with me to Connor. I promised him.”

Teagan frowned. “Connor? What’s this about the boy?”

“I can’t… just… Who are these people, Teagan?” Isolde took notice of their group and glared with suspicion at Alistair. “You!”

“It’s good to see you again, Isolde” Alistair said with a roguish smirk.

She sniffed haughtily and pointed her chin at him. “What are you doing here, Alistair?”

“Oh, you know, saving Redcliffe from the undead.” He shrugged.

Isolde didn’t reply but began pleading again with his uncle. “You will come with me. Won’t you?”

“Sure, I’ll come with you, Isolde. Just give me a minute, alright?”

“A minute, no more. We must hurry, Teagan.” She made her way back to the gate without a farewell.

Teagan rubbed at his neck. “She-”

“-has never liked me, I know. Don’t make excuses for her, it’s fine. Are you really going to the castle, alone?”

“I don’t have a lot of choice, Alistair” Teagan said. “We need to get to the bottom of this. Here, take the key, and we will see one another again soon.”

Morrigan was openly sneering as she watched Isolde wave Teagan through the gate and close it behind them. It almost made Alistair like the witch… almost.


	19. Chapter 19

According to Jake, the priest’s arrival coincided with one of the harshest winters Haven had experienced for a decade or more. A bout of ‘milk sickness’ contracted by a few of their long-haired mountain cattle - likely through ingesting something toxic – claimed the lives of many elders that year; and Jake’s mother. As his father abandoned them both when Jake was still a toddler, the boy was left in the care of neighbours when his mother died. Jake didn’t remember his father, and his mother didn’t disclose any details of their separation, or even the absent man’s name. A little unfair to Jake maybe, but Fay could understand the woman’s resentment.

The sickness, deaths, and terrible storm conditions presented the perfect opportunity for someone as twisted as this ‘priest’ to grasp the villagers in his claws. A practitioner of blood magic, demon summoning, brainwashing... eating people. Fay and Zevran both agreed they didn’t want to delve inside the madness and motives of a man like that. He was evil. To take advantage of the vulnerable and use them as he did was repulsive. Unforgivable. And, from what the boy recited of the self-proclaimed priest’s sermons, his mentality also indicated extreme psychosis.

The villagers died believing the priest’s lies, and Fay was distressed there hadn’t been a way for her and Zevran to save them. To siphon away the dark poison and make them see that what they were doing was wrong. The only one they didn’t have to kill was the boy. _No,_ she corrected herself, _there was the scholar too_. Fay twisted the chipped green bottle in her hands, then took another drink in revulsion at the scene playing in her head. So many bodies. So many wasted lives. Zevran, cleaning his blades, looked up and pursed his lips at the sneer on her face. Fay offered the bottle to him, but he shook his head and returned to his own state of reflection without making a comment.

They had found the scholar after the attack. Brother Genitivi was bound in rope around his wrists and ankles, shut away in a back room of the chantry that the priest had been sleeping in. He was uncertain of the sham priest’s plan for him, though Fay knew it wouldn’t have been pleasant. The scholar was a wandering researcher and academic, a good number of years past his prime, and entirely passive by nature. Fay wondered why he’d decided to explore alone without hiring a mercenary escort, and what the hell made him think it was a good idea to do so.

When the scholar revealed that he meant to reclaim the Urn of Sacred Ashes for the Chantry, the nudge of a helping hand seemed oddly feasible. Fate, coincidence, whatever it could be called, had never been that kind to her before. But, why else would their paths have crossed? The odds of encountering someone hunting the same relic was unimaginable. The only survivor of Haven’s mania apart from Jake. When they were done, in what seemed like typical fashion for the eccentric, Brother Genitivi insisted he would be fine without their company. Eager to share their findings, he had set off home by himself. They didn’t pass him on the descent, or his body, so Fay took that as a good sign. Maybe the scholar was blessed.

Whether it was the mysterious work of the Maker, or Mythal, who’d had taken pity on Fay that bloody day - for tearing off another strip of her soul as she stumbled from one catastrophe to another - or pure fluke, the scholar had held the key. Literally. Without it, there was no other way to open the temple door. The key Brother Gentivi possessed was an intricate and frankly mesmerizing contraption infused with magic. It had a delicate mechanism with strips of metal folding, rotating, and twisting to create a specific shape designed to fit the depression of the lock.

Brother Genitivi had insisted on going to the temple. He’d travelled so far, from Denerim, and no amount of logical discouragement would change his mind from seeing his mission completed. He also argued that although he could show Fay how it worked, it would be quicker and easier for him to use the key himself. So, the four went on together. Fay couldn’t leave the boy at Haven and felt entirely responsible for his welfare after what happened. He was too young to fend for himself and she wouldn’t have left him there if either of Zevran or the scholar had argued against it anyway. Haven was tainted with horrors- a past and future bathed in blood. _What gruesome scenes the spirits must re-enact there._

Alistair had joked about puzzles and falling tiles – and in honesty, Fay had initially thought his story that night was an extension of the facts - but nothing could have prepared her for the tests and traps within the temple. Brother Genitivi stayed in the main entrance hall with Jake, by the door, and Bob kept guard. As soon as Fay and Zevran climbed the first stairway they were set upon by cultists; the priest may have been one of their number once. The untainted ex-warden and the assassin advanced slowly, stopping periodically to allow Fay’s relium to replenish. Without a map there was the added annoyance of running into more stubborn doors, which Zevran couldn’t seem to pick open, and dead ends where sections of the building had collapsed into the corridors. Around every corner was something to hamper their progress.

A hole in a wall in the inner depths of the temple finally took them deep into tunnels cutting through the mountainside. Exhausted, and worried for the elderly man and boy they’d left behind, Fay contemplated turning back more than once. They inched along in the dark, cramped passages and after what seemed like an hour or two of wandering - doubling back to avoid dragonlings - they had eventually found a spur heading upwards. They entered a large hollow with an exit illuminated by sunlight and came face-to-face with more cultists.

The men gathered in the chamber were unavoidable, though surprisingly their leader was willing to talk to them before attacking. But, it was soon clear why. Father Kolgrim, the spokesman for the group, was under the delusion that Andraste had risen again in the form of a High Dragon. He tried to persuade Fay to corrupt the ashes in the urn with dragon blood, to return Andraste to power and glory. Predictably, he and his lackeys soon became hostile when she refused his request. Even if Fay didn’t need the ashes to cure Arl Eamon, she wouldn’t commit vandalism on a holy relic at the whim of a nutcase. Who would?

There had indeed been a dragon, curled up on a cliff edge overlooking the plateau. Fay and Zevran slipped past silently, anxious not to stir the massive beast from its slumber. They made it into the second section of the temple unscathed, releasing breathy laughs of near hysterical relief once inside. The architecture was different to the main temple below, and every stone seemed to hum with energy. They were greeted by a warrior proclaiming himself to be ‘The Guardian’, a man who’d survived for centuries to watch over the urn. As a test of their disposition, he asked them each a question before allowing them to enter the pilgrimage’s path.

 _"There is suffering in your past - your suffering, and the suffering of others. Do you think yourself to be a good person?” The Guardian had asked her. “No” Fay answered. “Not always.”_ _Andraste’s disciple had nodded, satisfied with her honesty. “You understand that we must be careful when protecting those we love. It is too easy to lose ourselves in the process. Admittance is the first step to change, to salvation, if we so desire it” he said. A warning. One that already preyed on her mind often._

For the first trial on the pilgrim’s path they had to answer riddles given to them by magical projections, which were simple enough to guess correctly. The wraith introducing himself as Shartan, however, had been a surprise to Fay. Having never seen a representation of him before, it had struck her just how much the elf looked and sounded like Solas. Did Fen’harel become involved in Andraste’s fight against Tevinter to free elven slaves? Or a relative? She knew so little about him, Solas gave almost no information about his past or his family. For good reason.

The riddle his projection asked them was _: "I'd neither a guest nor a trespasser be. In this place I belong, that belongs also to me."_ Home was the answer. Is that what Flemeth and Fen’harel strove to achieve? Would Urthemial’s soul contain the knowledge or power required to give the elves a home? If it was, then Fay hoped their plan paid off. Jake stirred, face scrunched in the throes of a bad dream, and Bob got up from his spot by the fire pit to lay down beside him. The boy’s breathing slowed again, a hand on the mabari’s back. _Everyone should have a home,_ she thought sadly.

The second part of the trial was the toughest. It forced Fay to confront someone from her past, and of course the apparition was of the one she’d hurt the most: Hawke. He asked if she loved him, or if it had all been pretence. He was angry with her. Disappointed. He’d castigated Fay for having a lack of respect, of faith. And he was right. She’d not been able to refute his claims; her actions had been inconsiderate. It wasn’t the way she wanted to see him or hear his voice again. She wasn’t ready.

 _“Was my promise not enough? Am I that worthless in your eyes? I would have done anything and everything for you. We would have found away to save Rebecca together. But instead you made a deal with Flemeth and discarded me, my love, as if it were nothing.”_ Fay drummed the fingers of one hand gently against the bottle. Should she still go to him when this was over? Hawke would certainly be better off without her.

When they reached the third trial, Jake and Brother Genitivi had been left on their own for an extensive amount of time. Bob would lead them to safety if any remaining cultists got too close, yet the danger they could be in was an increasing worry. Fay had felt drained, body and mind, and dispirited at the thought of the return journey they had yet to make. Abandoning the search wasn’t an option, so deeper into the temple they delved. Chains of guilt hung over her shoulders, around her neck, and each step was heavier than the last.

As Fay was too distracted to think about the puzzle for the third trial logically, it was Zevran who worked through the solution. The gauntlet’s magic, or The Guardian watching them, summoned a wraith to be their third ‘person’. The pressure tiles needed to be stood on in pairs, and someone had to step onto the blocks as they materialized over the chasm. The wraith willingly obeyed their commands, though they had found that out by accident. When the wraith first popped up in front of them, Fay had pulled out her sword and shouted: “Move back!” to Zevran in warning. The wraith had floated a few feet away and stayed there, motionless – watching as attentively as Bob did when he was after scraps.

Fay assigned their temporary companion to crossing the bridge over the chasm, whilst Zevran called out instructions to her. _“Third tile from your left”_ and _“the tile opposite me”._ Fifteen or twenty minutes later, they had moved on to face the final trail awaiting them. A wall of fire as tall as she was. The blaze extended from one side of the room to the other with no gaps to squeeze around it. The hum of magic was stronger than in any of the previous chambers. A set of stairs leading up to a dais were visible through the orange flames, and at the top was the urn containing Andraste’s remains.

Fire isn’t purely a symbol of destruction. Forest fires can consume dead wood, thick clusters of plants and weeds leeching nutrients from the soil, and clear shaded ground of a congestion of leaves blocking the light. In the areas that fire cleanses, new seeds can take root and grow. It was then that she realized the path to the urn was to teach Fay to repent for her deeds of self-service, submit to collaborating with others for success, and span the void. The flames were symbolic of burning away the old burdens she lugged around with her.

Zevran had begun to leer as Fay stripped off her clothes and then struggled to make his expression neutral when he saw her body. He refrained from commenting about her scars, her missing breasts, but Fay expected he would probably broach the subject at some point in the future. She couldn’t blame him for that. She’d been candid with him, but he didn’t know everything. Zevran had implored her to reconsider, but she knew instinctively what was expected of her. There was no other way to finish the trial- trickery wouldn’t suffice and wasn’t necessary. Fay walked naked through the fire, and it didn’t hurt.

In her old life, Fay hadn’t been brought up as religious. If people wished to worship God, that was fine with her. She couldn’t find it in herself to share their adulation of a greater being, because He’d never interfered for her sake. To spare her. That wasn’t the essence of creed, but the bombshell she was given had made her disillusioned.

She was diagnosed with the cancer at an early age, only a year after the joy of having a beautiful daughter. Her body was disfigured. Her husband didn’t love her when she needed him most. No god had not taken pity on her and eased those months of fear or pain. Sickness and suffering. But, when Fay passed through the fire, she simultaneously felt a gut-wrenching sorrow and an elation that she couldn’t explain. She’d wanted to weep. To sing. To dance. The memory of it still made her skin tingle.

The Guardian had entered the room, waved his hand in a circular motion, and dispelled the flames.

_"You have been through the trials of the Gauntlet. You have walked the path of Andraste, and like Her, you have been cleansed. You have proven yourself worthy, pilgrim."_

Fay humbly requested permission to take a single pinch of ashes from the sacred urn, and The Guardian permitted her the boon she desired. She had the means to cure Arl Eamon.

At some point Zevran had put away his daggers and was sitting with his legs stretched out, looking up at the night sky.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked after a few minutes, keeping his voice low. Bob’s ear twitched in his direction.

“Not particularly. Do you?”  Fay heard what The Guardian had said to Zevran about Rinna, a woman he apparently regretted killing.

“Me? I’m fighting fit” he said. His smile faded quickly, so Fay knew this wasn’t true.

“I’m sorry, Zevran. I know I’ve not been good company since the temple.”

“You’ve lost your smile, dear warden. I, however, am delighted to leave the snow behind.” He held up his index finger. “Ah! I know what will help. A massage. Not to brag, but it’s something I am _very_ good at” Zevran assured her with a cheeky glint in his eye.

“Maybe I’ll take you up on that some other time.” Zevran bowed his head and his gaze fell upon the bottle clutched in her hand. He cleared his throat, contemplating how to be diplomatic. She’d known this was coming. “You want to know why I’ve been drinking more than I probably should? Because I’m an idiot, Zevran. That’s why.” Fay flung the bottle to one side. It rolled, the uneven terrain conveying it down the bank of the hill. Liquor glugged as its putrid contents spilled out onto the grass. “A friend once advised me that I should find a better outlet for my inadequacies in dealing with… with shit.” The fuzzy warmth of alcohol was sapped, replaced by sobering recognition. “Like a dolt, I repeatedly get stuck in the same rut.” Fay chewed at her lip. _A new start. You want that, don’t you? Then get your act together._ “It’s irresponsible. I know it is, and I’m sorry” she said.

Zevran wrinkled his nose. “You could at least have chosen something that doesn’t smell of fermenting cabbages.”

“People never leave behind the good stuff.”

“Unfortunately, they are not so charitable, no.” He smiled, a proper smile. “You said earlier that we’re not far from Redcliffe?”

“This lake overlooks Fort Connor. Assuming we don’t run into more trouble, I’d estimate half a day’s walk or so.”

“Ahhh, what I wouldn’t give for a proper bed and a bath.”

“I think I can guess, Zevran. And no, I don’t want details.”

Zevran laughed. “You Southerners… so restrained” he ribbed. “Go on, Fay, get some rest. Sleep off that cabbage water. There’s no good to be had from both of us sitting up fretting about what tomorrow will bring.”


	20. Chapter 20

Duran intercepted Alistair on his way to speak with Ser Perth about the arrangements for Connor.

“We have visitors, Alistair” the dwarf said, scratching gingerly at the back of his neck.

“Visitors? From the village?” With the undead quashed and the perpetrator under control - for the moment - the people of Redcliffe were galled to learn of what had been going on inside the castle; that Connor was the reason their friends and family were dead. _He’s just a boy. Maker, what a mess._

“No, they’re not from the village.”

“Oh. Well, that’s good. Right?” They walked past the library. Morrigan tore her attention away from the pages of the Formari tome she’d found in the collection long enough to scowl at him.  “If they’re not from the village, who are they?” Alistair asked, resisting the urge to stick his tongue out at the bothersome witch. “And why do you seem skittish?”

Duran halted at the top of the stairs. “I want you to promise me that you’ll be… decent.”

“I’m not sure I like where this is going, Duran.”

“Just agree” Duran said impatiently.

“Alright, alright, I’ll be ‘decent’.”

“Good. Come on, they’re in the main hall. Hold your tongue until you hear her out, and don’t do anything stupid.”

“Lovely, and I thought this day couldn’t get any better.”

The three visitors had their backs to them as Alistair opened the door to the hall. Leliana was hugging one of them, a woman, and her face was lit up in uncensored delight. Could be an old friend of hers, he supposed. The chantry sisters weren’t like that where he came from: outfitted for battle. Things would have been more interesting in the abbey if they had been. On second thoughts, he hadn’t been the best-behaved child. Sister Constance chasing him through the vestry with a sword in hand, white robes flapping, made for quite a terrifying image.

Accompanying the woman was a blond elf, a pair of matching curved daggers at his waist. Their holsters were old, faded, but the leather wasn’t cracked and dry. The obvious rubs and chafes suggested regular use, though they were diligently oiled and maintained. A professional. The elf had a slim, muscular frame and, as his head angled to the side in laughter at something Leliana said, Alistair noticed a pattern of wavy black lines tattooed around the elf’s eye. They didn’t look like Dalish markings, and he held himself too confidently to be from a city alienage. Peculiar. A mercenary perhaps?

Next to the blond elf stood a boy. Alistair would’ve guessed him to be nine or ten years old. He was dressed in tatty second-hand clothes that were far too big for him. The trouser legs had been turned up several times and under his jacket Alistair could see that the shirt, untucked, hung down as far as the boy’s knees. He seemed insecure for a kid of his age travelling with such an entourage. Tugging at one of the shirt sleeves, his focus never wavered from the woman and Leliana. Alistair could see no obvious familial resemblance to the male elf, though half-elven children always looked human.

The woman hugging Leliana wore a mishmash of leather armour pieces that suggested she was a fighter like the elf. There was something about her, even from behind, that made Alistair think he’d met her somewhere before. Strange. When Leliana released her, the woman turned around to look at him and Alistair stopped in his tracks. Fay. He should’ve guessed. Why else would Duran tell him to ‘hear her out’ and not do something reckless? _She’s come back._

He didn’t know what to say, how to feel. He thought he’d still be raging at her for what had been said that night at camp. But he wasn’t. _She’s back, and I’m… happy to see her._

Fay glanced from Leliana and then to Duran. “Alistair” she said. “Please, if you would-”

“Not here.” He was surprised by how steady he sounded.

Duran’s hand grabbed his arm. “Kid…”

“Duran, it’s fine. I just- I don’t want to talk to her here.”

Fay chewed her lip as she tried to read his current disposition. It wouldn’t be easy, as even he wasn’t sure.

Fay’s armour was more worn and scuffed than when he last saw her, the hooded cloak frayed and streaked with mud. There were black rings under her eyes and a small cut on her chin scabbed with dried black blood. She looked haggard. A mess. _But she’s alive._ Alistair felt his remaining ire soften and dissolve. Was it treacherous? Should he be glad to see she was whole and safe?

“Not here. Somewhere else. Alone” he said.

The male elf blocked her path as Fay started to walk over to him. “I’ll be alright, Zevran” she said. “I-I think this is what we need.” Her voice trembled, echoing in the silent hall. The elf gave a small bow and stepped out of the way.

“As you wish, my dear warden. Call me, and I will be there in a flash.” He looked straight at Alistair to make his threat clear.

Fay smiled at Zevran and then turned to speak with Leliana. “Would you mind-?” she asked, pointing at the boy.

“Looking after this handsome young man? Of course not.” Leliana crouched and beckoned to the boy with a smile. “It’s Jake, no? How about we find you something to eat? We can ask someone about a bath and a change of clothes too.”

Jake hesitated. “I am kinda ‘ungry” he said slowly.

Fay ruffled the boy’s hair and Alistair heard her whisper: “It’s alright, Jake. She’s a friend. Leliana will take good care of you while I’m gone. Okay?” The boy mumbled an affirmative and Leliana rose to her feet, taking Jake’s hand and guiding him to the west wing kitchens.

“Bob’s outside. Can we get ‘im?” the boy asked, looking up expectantly at Leliana as they walked away.

“Yes, we can. I’m certain we can find a bone for him to chew on or some scraps…”

Duran coughed. “Uh, Zevran, was it? Let’s join them” he said waving in the direction Leliana and the boy had gone. “I could do with an ale” he added.

“Don’t forget what I said, Fay” the elf said in parting as Duran ushered him away.

Fay wrung her hands together as she watched Duran and Zevran leave. “Erm, okay. So… we’ll talk?” she asked.

“This way” Alistair said.

He headed for Eamon’s study. He wasn’t sure why he picked that room out of all the others in the castle, but he didn’t want to speak to Fay in front of the guards and staff wandering through the main hall. For one it was none of their concern, and two… Alistair still wasn’t entirely certain if he was going to stay as collected and equable as he seemed to be right now. The two of them had unfinished business. A great deal left unspoken.

Fay sighed as she sat on the couch, an almost sensual moan of happiness, and massaged the backs of her calves as best she could through the thick upper shaft of her boots. Alistair closed the door and leant against it. Where to start? How to begin? A thousand thoughts and questions bombarded him at once.

“I know you can’t forgive me” Fay said. “I’m not asking for forgiveness, it wouldn’t be fair. However, I will say that I am very sorry for what I said. I know how much Duncan meant to you. I lost my rag, my temper, and I was a heartless bitch.” She stopped trying to loosen the muscles in her legs and sat up straight. “I’ve been that a lot recently.”

Alistair didn’t reply. She was correct that he couldn’t forgive what was _said_ about Duncan, though he was beginning to think that he could come to forgive her. But not today.

“I also understand that you didn’t want to see me again.” Alistair sat at Eamon’s desk and folded his arms. “I came to bring what I said I would, and then we’ll go” she continued.

_She found it?_

“The urn?”

_This could be a ruse… She could be using this as an excuse for being here, in Redcliffe._ Alistair searched his heart and deep down he knew Fay wasn’t lying to him, not about this.

“Yes. Well, no. Not exactly. I don’t have the _urn_. It’s a holy relic, I couldn’t steal it. The Guardian let me take some of the ashes. From what I understand, they’ll have the power to heal the Arl. The Guardian said to mix the ashes into something Eamon can drink, and that will be enough. Of course, that’s if you want to try it. I’ll leave the pouch with you before we leave in the morning.”

“No” he said. _Maker give me strength. Why is this so difficult?_

“No? You don’t want the ashes?”

“I mean…” Alistair closed his eyes. He found he couldn’t say what he wanted and look at her. _Despite the barb she threw, I care for her._ “Don’t leave in the morning” he said.

“Tonight. Oh. Alright, I under-”

“Fay. Don’t leave” he clarified.

 When he opened his eyes again, Fay had a hand over her mouth to muffle her crying.

“I’m sorry” she mumbled. “I’d hoped- but I didn’t expect… I’m sorry.”

Alistair got up from behind the desk and sat on the couch beside her. Fay, not long ago, had been his rock. To see her in this tender state alarmed him. _She isn’t made of stone, Alistair._ “I’m mad at you” he admitted, “yet, not as much as I was. Not anymore. I’ve done a lot of thinking since I- since that night. What I did was childish and disgraceful. We both said and did things that were wrong. You aren’t the only one to blame.”

“You’re one of the last people I ever wanted to hurt, Alistair.”

“I want you to finish what you were telling me, if you’re willing. The truth.”

Fay nodded, wiping at the wet tracks on her cheeks. “It was the truth.” She sniffed and wrapped her arms around her chest, hugging herself. “I know how crazy it sounds… I warned that you wouldn’t believe me. And you didn’t.”

Alistair would reserve judgement. Right now, he needed to hear all of it; all of what she had been going to tell him. Her story. He would be ‘decent’, and then he would decide what to do with the information given to him. What mattered was that he was prepared to listen.

“I wanted to tell you everything when I first met you. Then I wasn’t sure how much I could divulge without changing things for the worse.”

“Which is why you didn’t tell me about Duncan, or what was going to happen at Ostagar.”

He remembered her saying the same thing before. He had initially been sickened at this news, blinded to the reality of their failure. She couldn’t have held back an army of darkspawn, changed Cailan’s mind, or magicked up hundreds of reinforcements out of nowhere. The darkspawn’s numbers had heavily out-weighed their own, and that was what it boiled down to. The soldiers, Cailan, and Duncan – Fay and himself - would have died in the end. Knowing they couldn’t win would not have turned the tide. If they’d been warned, retreated to the fortress and barricaded themselves in, they would’ve just had to deal with a slower death. The result was the same.

“It’s like making a ripple on a pond. How far can those outer rings travel, and what will they collide with as they reach the edge? Will it disturb the water too much? Too little? I don’t know how this works… That’s not a good explanation for their deaths, I know. The blood of those men and women are on my hands. So many.” She paled, her lashes glistening with tears. “I’m not a good person, Alistair. No matter how hard I try, there’s always pain. Loss.”

“Regardless of ripples, or changing things, if this is going to work then I want to know it all.”

“You’re right.” Fay took a deep breath. “To start at the beginning, we must go forward” she said. “Forward by a decade.”

“A decade? 9:40 Dragon?”

“Actually, to 9:41. I’m not from here, and I don’t just mean Ferelden. I ended up in Thedas when my daughter and I died in a house fire. The memory was returned to me recently; I always thought she was at home, playing with her panda teddy and having imaginary tea parties. Missing me, yet happy and safe with her father. I didn’t know…” Fay rubbed at her eyes with the heels of her palms. “When Rebecca and I died, we passed into the fade. The explosion and the breach probably caused it, but as the event can’t be replicated I’m stuck here without her. Until we’re reunited.”

“Died? Reunited? I still don’t get it. You said your daughter was with Flemeth… why? Why is she with that witch?”

“She’s with the Flemeth of my time, and she’s there because she must recover. Rebecca’s too weak to come through and survive. When I woke in the fade I was being chased. Hunted. The entity was ‘The Nightmare’: an ancient fear demon. A spirit called Wisdom found us before it did, and she took Rebecca to a safe place where it couldn’t find her. I was made to forget by Compassion, as the pain of it would have prevented me from doing what I needed to. I can’t condemn him for that, he wanted to help. I just wish it had played out differently.”

Alistair’s head was reeling. Spirits, demons, compassion… him? Fay still seemed too young to have a child. And who was the father? Was it Hawke, the man she’d cried out for in her dreams? It didn’t feel right to ask.

“You see, when I came through the fade into this world from mine, to Thedas, there’d been an explosion big enough to create a breach in the veil. I touched the artifact that caused it and was marked. In turn I was given the power to close the tears in the veil by the same magic.” Fay placed a hand on Alistair’s thigh and swiftly retracted it again. “Sorry. You, uh, you aren’t going to like this next part.”

“It involves the Grey Wardens” Alistair guessed.

“Yes. The creature using the artifact to create the breach was a darkspawn magister. He called himself Corypheus. I think he’s being held in a Grey Warden prison in the Vimmark Wastelands.”

“Woah… Hang on a second. A darkspawn magister?”

“Not just any magister, but one of the priests who found their way into the Golden City.”

In Tevinter they had worshipped dragons, and those dragon gods shared the secrets of blood magic with their disciples. At the dragons’ behest the priests flooded the streets with blood spilt from the murder of thousands of slaves, and in exchange gained enough power to weaken the veil to enter the fade. They were cast out of the Golden City by The Maker, which blackened due to their greed and arrogance. The magisters’ infringement on His city, the seat of His throne, cursed them and brought about the blight. The eternal darkspawn, and the archdemons. That was a thousand years ago.

“Unless I can prevent it, Corypheus escapes. The Grey Wardens… the leaders end up listening to fanatics from Tevinter called the Venatori. They perform rituals, blood magic, to summon demons. A _lot_ of demons.”

The Grey Wardens defended the common folk from the blight, faced the darkspawn and the archdemons in their stead and with whatever tools were necessary to get the job done. Blood magic, though? That wasn’t right. Duncan would have mentioned it. The wardens wouldn’t serve a creature such as Corypheus, if he existed, when they were sworn to kill such monsters.

“That’s absurd!” he spluttered. “Why would they do that? It doesn’t make sense.”

“They were tricked. Corypheus replicated ‘The Calling’ somehow, made them think they were all dying. It was a desperate act enforced by those in charge. Clarel was one, and there were probably others. There was no word in or out of Weisshaupt, so I can’t say for sure. There were many people corrupted by Corypheus’ influence. Most of whom tried to kill me.”

Alistair stood. He began to pace, shaking his head as he seriously considered the implications of what Fay was saying. Duncan hadn’t mentioned any of the leaders by name, so he couldn’t confirm if Clarel was one of them. Fay’s knowledge about The Calling and Weisshaupt made her tale credible, though she could have overheard the information at Ostagar.  

“People are – were - after you because you could close tears in the veil? With magic?” Alistair looked at Fay and she nodded.

“Corypheus wanted to enter the fade physically and I was undoing his work. He wasn’t happy about it, so he attacked Haven. We had to bury the village under an avalanche with trebuchets. Though, after what Zevran and I saw there a few days ago, I say good riddance.” Fay’s expression was troubled, and she chewed at her lip again before continuing. “Anyway, after the village was buried we found a fortress in the Frostback Mountains and made a new base for the Inquisition.”

“Inquisition? That’s… that’s a chantry organization.”

“The Divine’s directive when things take a turn for the extreme. In our case, Seeker Cassandra formed it without the chantry’s blessing. They were too busy squabbling amongst themselves as to whom would become the next Divine.” Fay shrugged. “That’s not important. I don’t hold the chantry in high regard either.”

“And by that you mean as well as the Grey Wardens.” Alistair was ruffled again by her dismissal of the order. His order.

“We - the Inquisition - were forced to send an army to Adamant Fortress to stop the Grey Wardens summoning their demons for Corypheus, and there was an accident. A bridge collapsed, broken by the dragon that Corypheus was controlling. Clarel sacrificed herself to try and kill it, though she didn’t succeed. I panicked as the stones smashed and we fell. I used the anchor’s magic, the mark on my hand from the artifact, to open a rift. My companions and I entered the tear in the veil, into the fade, where I regained my memories. The crux of the explosion and source of the breach was revealed to us all there. Grey Wardens were with Corypheus at the Temple of Sacred Ashes when it was formed. They were performing some rite with him, to aid him.”

“That’s a heck of a story to discredit the Grey Wardens.”

“Alistair, I’m not trying to turn you against the wardens. As outlandish as it sounds, I haven’t fabricated all of this to explain my distaste at the order’s methods and the decisions made by its leaders.”

“It’s hard to think otherwise. Especially after-”

“I said I was sorry for what I said. And I am. Yet after what I’ve seen, experienced, and dealt with, I stand by my conviction that some things are erroneous in the wardens’ practices. I don’t want to see them fade into obscurity like they had done by 9:41, 9:42. They hid themselves away and those they protected lost confidence in them.”

Alistair sagged into Eamon’s chair and, with his elbows on the desk, cradled his head in his hands. If he’d had the same run-in with the wardens as Fay said she did, would he still be proud to call himself a Grey Warden?

“I knew another Grey Warden” she said, “in the future. Blackwall. He was a fair man, a dependable warrior. Alistair, I know not all members of the wardens carry out their leaders’ instructions blindly. For every man or woman that does, there are ten more who’s intentions are noble. I know not all mages want to practice blood magic and bargain with demons for power, that there are plenty of templars who went through the vigil to serve the order for the right reasons.”

“You hate the wardens, yet you don’t hate them?”

“I don’t agree with what they can become, but I know someone who can change that.”

“Who?”

“You, Alistair.”

“Me?”

“A year, give or take, and you’ll be king.”

“King?! There’s no way.”

“Duran convinced you to take the throne from Anora. You are Maric’s son, after all.”

“I-I’d never become king. No.”

“You were a good ruler, Alistair. But, whenever we spoke, or when you sent me letters, there was always an undercurrent of sadness through the humour. I got the impression that you felt out of your depth and were, well, lost as much as I was. If you were to stay with the wardens, I know you could change their course. For the better. Though, I don’t know if Anora would be a wiser choice to take the throne over you. That outcome would revise the future, a potentially irreparable decision.”

Maric’s bastard son on the throne? What would make the people of Ferelden accept that? And, why would he openly reveal his lineage when he and Eamon had kept it under wraps for almost twenty years? That crotchety dwarf wasn’t going to persuade him to blab his secret to Thedas, and he would never use his diluted connection to the Theirin bloodline as a means to seize the throne. He wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t allow it.

“You didn’t mention how you came from 9:41, or 9:42. Another breach? Did you kill the darkspawn magister?” he asked, picking up where she’d left off. Fay had remained rather vague about what led to her being here.

“I didn’t defeat Corypheus. I… I left before that.” The bridge of Fay’s nose went pink, the colour spreading over her cheeks like a rash. “When we were in the fade… Erm, well, Flemeth came to aid us in driving back the Nightmare- the demon who’d hunted Rebecca and I all those months prior. Without her magic Hawke and my friends wouldn’t have made it out. She has Rebecca, and in exchange for my daughter’s regeneration she asked me to do something for her in return.”

“Which was what? What could this mighty mage, who can enter the fade and vanquish ancient demons with a flick of her wrist, want from you?”

Fay flinched at the bite of his sarcasm. “To kill the archdemon.”

“Surely it was more than that.”

“Perhaps.”

“You won’t tell me?” Alistair asked irritably.

“I have theories, though nothing concrete. And no, I won’t say what they are. It could endanger everything. Killing the archdemon is what we’re here to do, is it not? Revealing what I have may already have had consequences I can’t see, and any further on that subject is a step I refuse to take. I made an awful choice, Alistair. I lost Hawke, my friends… I won’t have it be for naught. Rebecca is the most precious thing to me. My daughter. Mine. Do you understand? I was loved, in love, but I threw that away in an instant. For her. Your sulking won’t change my mind.”

Ashamedly, whilst she was being obstinate with him in this matter, Alistair was jealous at her level of passion. It was how a parent, a mother, should feel for her child. Eamon had raised him as his own, until he and Isolde had a son: Connor. Duncan had taken Alistair under his wing, mentoring and shaping him, yet he’d not had a connection with his father. Maric had given him away. Forgotten about him. Getting a lowly serving girl pregnant was too much of a scandal for Alistair’s father.

“I need time to digest this.” He sighs, Fay’s story leaving him more confused than ever. “But, Maker’s breath, I think… I think I believe you.”


	21. Chapter 21

Alistair said he hadn’t forgiven Fay for what had passed between them, and she didn’t expect him to, but at least there had been less antipathy as she’d unfurled the tangle mess of her background. It was a cautious start - a start to sewing a patch over the torn edges of their friendship. The talk hadn’t ended on a bad note, a falling out, or banishment. It made Fay optimistic that Alistair might eventually understand why she held such strong opinions about the wardens, and other law enforcing organizations across Thedas. He may not like her for those biases, but she’d laid bare her logic. It was down to him to pick it apart to analyze and form his own opinion. But she was happier.

Eventually Fay would need to cover her tracks with Leliana and Morrigan. There was no way the bard hadn’t wondered how Fay knew who she was that day in Dane’s Refuge, and surely Morrigan recognized that Fay’s relium abilities were abnormal? Alistair did, and he wasn’t properly a templar. The mage hadn’t brought up the subject yet. Hopefully Morrigan just thought it was due to the darkspawn taint of the joining. Or maybe she simply didn’t care enough to mention it? Either way, Fay had to think of something to say just in case. The taint wasn’t too far from the truth about how she ended up with this weird mix of blood magic anyway.

Morrigan wasn’t as chilly with Fay as she was with Alistair, but that didn’t mean the lesser degree of coldness equated to friendliness. Fay wasn’t that gullible. She assumed Morrigan was pleasant to her only because it suited her. After all, Morrigan wanted something – like mother, like daughter. _Huh, I’m one to talk._  Fay already had the advantage of knowing what would be asked: for Flemeth to be killed. Morrigan wouldn’t rock the boat until then.

But, right now, they had bigger problems to worry about that. Arl Eamon looked better after being administered the sacred ashes, and the village alchemist agreed that the poison afflicting him was finally gone from his system. Eamon would live. However, the Arl still wouldn’t wake up. This was, according to Morrigan and Jown, all due to his son, Connor. The boy was possessed, and the demon controlling him was keeping the Arl trapped in the fade as a sort of insurance for its survival.

Jowan, a blood mage locked in the castle’s dungeons for his part in poisoning Eamon, was a disheveled looking young man who’d fled Kinloch Hold around the time Ostagar was swarmed by darkspawn. The circumstance preceding his escape from the circle was not one he would speak of, although he freely admitted to his guilt in the poisoning. Jowan profusely denied that Connor’s possession was anything to do with him. It turned out that Connor was a mage and no-one except Isolde knew. His powers were newly manifested and untrained because the Arlessa refused to send him to Kinloch. After the havoc caused by the demon thus far, Connor was now under constant watch by Jowan, Ser Perth, and Teagan.

“You trust Jowan, after what he did?” Fay asked Alistair. She wasn’t judging the mage for his actions, how could she after trusting Zevran? The assassin had tracked her down to carry out Loghain’s orders, promised a deal that appealed to his personal wants. Just as Jowan had - and hell, just as she had with Mythal. Fay felt she was not in a strong position to preach the moral high-code in matters like that. She was, however, curious, and wondered how it would effect their change of plan. Complication upon complication - never an easy day in Thedas.

“I don’t know. He gave no resistance, and Ser Perth is a capable templar should it come to that. What option do we have?”

“Well, as there’s not a chance I’m allowing him to use blood magic to sacrifice someone and banish this demon, you’re right. There seems no choice but to leave him here to help keep things under control until we return with help.” She clicked her tongue, mulling it over. “Hmmm. Okay. I suggest leaving Morrigan to watch over Connor too – I expect neither a demon nor a blood mage could outwit her.”

“She is conniving, and cunning. I’ll give you that.” Alistair pressed a finger to his lips in thought and then nodded his agreement.

“I don’t really want to leave Jake here where I can’t watch out for him, but I can’t take him with us. We could also leave Leliana as backup, if she agrees?” Poor Leliana, relegated to babysitting duties. Fay would find a way to make it up to her.

“I trust Leliana more than I trust that witch.”

“Morrigan. That _witch_ has a name.”

Alistair glared at Fay. “As do I, but she rarely uses it. It’s ‘clod’ or ‘idiot’ or…”

“Focus, Alistair.”

“Right. Fine. Leliana and Morrigan stay in Redcliffe, whilst Duran, murder-rampage qunari, and your mysterious elf come with us to the circle tower.” Was that jealousy of Zevran she detected? Fay smirked at the ridiculousness of it all.

“Be grateful the mysterious elf changed his opinion of us. Zevran’s an assassin, you know.”

Alistair’s eyes widened. “An assassin?”

“Yep, an Antivan Crow, hired by the beloved Regent to kill the surviving Grey Wardens from Ostagar. He had a contract on our heads. Huh, I never did ask how much we were worth…”

“You want to take an _assassin_ with us? What’s to stop him completing the job?! All three of us will be-”

“Alistair, I travelled with Zevran alone in the wilderness for weeks. He’s a friend. He’s _my_ friend, and I trust him.”

“Point proven that you’re crazy as ever. I better not wake up to a knife in the back. He doesn’t like me, that’s clear” Alistair grumbled.

“With your winning personality, what’s not to love?” she called, already on her way to find Duran, Zevran, and Sten. They need to redistribute supplies and prepare for the journey. It would probably be a good idea for Bodahn and Sandal to remain with Morrigan and Leliana. She’s sure the dwarves wouldn’t object to the opportunity of making more coin from the villagers. Lake Calenhad is a few days on foot, but the sooner they can make it there and back with mages and lyrium to rid Connor of the demon, the better. Travel light travel fast.

Alistair’s voice trails after her. “See… I still can’t tell if you’re making fun of me or…”

Alistair’s going to light up like a Christmas tree in Zevran’s company. That elf is just as content spending a night indulging in carnal pursuits with males as he is females. All those innuendos to Alistair’s innocent ears - she can’t wait. Does that make her mean? Fay tittered to herself at the thought.

Zevran, slinking out from the shadows of a doorway, tucked an arm under hers. “You seem brighter today, mi amor” he said.

“Ah! Just the gorgeous elf I was thinking of.”

“Naturally. It is inevitable when one exudes as much sexual charisma as I.”

The heavy suits of armour, lined up in rows against the walls, made Fay irrationally nervous. She hurried past them, trying to ignore the empty, black eyeholes.

“You seem rather chirpy today too, Zevran.”

“Chirpy? Yes.” He flashed her a white smile full of perfect teeth. Fay didn’t think it should be possible in an age sorely lacking dental hygienists. “A little bird tells me that we may be leaving the castle.”

Fay nudged him with her hip. “Little bird, huh? Have you been spying on me, Zevran?”

“Can you blame me? I find it hard to pull myself away from a woman of such beauty…”

“Oh, cut it out.” Fay swatted at him. “Yes, we’re getting out of here, and I can’t say I’m not glad. But that means no more baths, oils, or blushing maids to bed for you.”

“Ahhh.” He gave her a dramatic sigh. “The things I must endure.”

“And I appreciate your sacrifice. Hey, erm, would you do me a favour?”

“Anything, although we may need a few hours… and some scented candles.”

Fay disregarded the comment with a roll of her eyes. “Alistair isn’t great at organizing, and, well…. There’s a lot to do. Will you pass on this _little bird’s_ news to Duran and Sten? I want to get going before noon. Oh, and make sure they pack only the essentials.”

“Sten, he’s the muscular brute who looks like he could snap me into two pieces like a twig?”

“You’ll be fine” she assured him. “You’re supple, and I’m certain you don’t break that easily.”

Zevran released her arm. “If only you knew” he said with a suggestive wink. “For you, my dear warden, I shall take the risk and deliver your message.” He padded away to find the warriors.

Another voice stopped her before the main hall. “My Lady, might I have a moment?”

Jeez, could she not go more than a few yards without interruption? Nothing was going to get done at this rate. She bit back a frustrated groan, put on a smile, and waited for Teagan to catch up to her.

“Of course, Bann Teagan, but please, it’s just Fay.”

Teagan took her hand, lifting it to place a soft kiss on her knuckles. “I wanted to thank you, Fay” he said. “For your remarkable efforts in saving my brother.”

Fay blinked at him. That was… unexpected. “Oh. Th-that isn’t necessary." She cleared her throat. "I promise we’ll find a way to free him and Connor from this demon. Redcliffe, and your family, has suffered enough, Bann Teagan. There will be no more blood spilt if I can help it.”

“I have faith in your success, Fay, and you also have my utmost respect. My nephew is extremely fortunate to have you by his side.”

Fay tried to make light of the awkwardness she was quickly feeling. “Ah. I wouldn’t say lucky. We’ve had our differences, but-”

“Then he is an imbecile” Teagan spat. His expression softened, and Fay realized that he still had her hand. “To find the urn and deliver the ashes to us, in our darkest hour. You are a marvel, nay, a miracle, dear woman.”

“I- uh. You’re welcome, Bann Teagan. It was nothing.”

“Modest too?" Another smile. "But where are my manners? I should not steal so much of your time when you have much to attend to.” _No kidding._ “When you arrive back at Redcliffe Castle, I would enjoy your company for dinner. A celebration! If you’d be so kind as to allow me this courtesy?”

She could hardly say no, could she? “Oh, of course. That’s gracious of you, Bann Teagan” Fay said, though her reply was cautious.

“Excellent! Until next we meet. Safe journeys, Fay.” With a bow and a flourish, he was gone. Did he…? No. Fay frowned. Was the Bann _flirting_ with her? Dear god. Alistair’s uncle? Yep, it was unquestionably time for her to leave Redcliffe.


	22. Chapter 22

Fay sat outside of camp, her back against a tree and Bob laying at her feet. Close enough that she could hear their summons, but far enough to provide a pocket of solitude. The stay in Redcliffe had fed her dreams of red lyrium and monsters, people breaking. Of Cullen. Something terrible was going to happen at the circle, Fay knew that. Blood magic, abominations, torture.

She’d tried talking to Jowan before they left the castle, but he’d looked at her as if she’d suddenly sprouted a tail when she asked if things had seemed normal before his escape. If there were any rumblings of a revolt, or worse. Jowan said that there were always ‘rumblings of a revolt’, that the templars dictated the mages’ lives with an iron fist – and too often a lyrium brand – and so, in that case, things were as ‘normal’ as ever.

The night sky was clear and the stars blazing bright. Beauty and peace in chaos, a common juxtaposition of life. _That is life._ Bob had moved so that she could stroke her fingers through his short, course fur. Words formed on her lips and Fay let them. She sang quietly to the darkness, Bob giving her his attention with doleful, puppy eyes.

_All around me are familiar faces, worn out places, worn out faces. Bright and early for their daily races, going nowhere. Going nowhere._

_And their tears are filling up their glasses, no expression. No expression. Hide my head I want to drown my sorrow, no tomorrow. No tomorrow._

_And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad._

_The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had. I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take. When people run in circles, it's a very, very…_

_Mad world. Mad world._

_Children waiting for the day they feel good, Happy Birthday. Happy Birthday. Made to feel the way that every child should, sit and listen. Sit and listen._

_Went to school and I was very nervous, no-one knew me. No-one knew me. Hello teacher tell me what's my lesson, look right through me. Look right through me._

_And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad._

_The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had. I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take. When people run in circles, it's a very, very…_

_Mad world. Mad world._

Bob whined and then licked her cheek. She caught a movement in her periphery, broad chest and shoulders. Someone, aside from her canine companion, had been listening. Not slim enough to be Zevran, or short enough to be Duran. Sten wouldn’t check on her, she didn’t know him that well yet.

“Are you… are you alright?” Alistair asked.

“Uh, yeah. I guess.” Bob trotted off to chase leaves or deal with doggy business and Fay patted the ground. _He probably doesn’t want to…_ But Alistair sat, and studied the stars she’d been admiring earlier.

“A sad song” Alistair eventually said. “Is that… from you’re home?”

“My home is gone. But yes, it is.” Fay concentrated, and then shook her head. “I- I can’t remember who sang it. I was afraid that would happen.” Alistair looked at her. “Things from here, replacing what I knew before” she explained.

“Oh. That must be hard.”

“Sometimes.”

“Will you tell me what’s bothering you?”

“Redcliffe. Kinloch Hold. Who I’m going to see there.” Fay laughed, bitter. “Which is stupid, he doesn’t even know me.” She could sense Alistair was waiting for more. She sighed. “Cullen is a templar. We worked together and it’s… complicated.”

Alistair snorted at that familiar excuse and went back to staring up at the sky. “Did you and he-?”

“I don’t see how that’s your business.”

He nodded, her curt reply giving him the answer. A pause, “Is Hawke a templar too?”

“Oh god, no. He’s an apostate.”

Alistair’s eyebrow shot upwards, though he didn’t say what he probably wanted to on that subject. “Does he have magic like yours?”

“No, not entirely. I don’t think anyone does. It was inflicted, in a way.”

“Why do you fight with weapons, if you have magic?”

“I didn’t have magic when I first came here, so I had to fight using conventional methods. Now, it’s habit, and I’d do no good in twirling a staff around. My abilities… they don’t work the same way.”

“I noticed.” The pause was laced with tension. “You don’t pull energy from the fade?” There was more to his question. It was a charge for which he expected her confession. Her honesty.

“I don’t need to.” She watched him struggle with it, templar training against those damned warden principles Alistair held dear. There was an ideal for equality in the Order of Grey Wardens somewhere, though over years of abuse it had become warped. Anything to get the job done. “Some would call it blood magic, if they could pin a label on it, yes. But think, Alistair. Have I ever used you, Duran, or anyone else to fuel my skills?”

“No” he said. “But-”

“- and I won’t. There are spells reserved as a last resort. Most are disgusting, and they hurt – they hurt _me._ I learnt them so that I’d never be left helpless, unable to act against those who are stronger or fight dirty. No-one has the right to use someone, especially not like that…” Fay trailed off, her thoughts turning to Hawke. His patience. His love. Her heart squeezed tight.

Alistair considered her with a dawning of understanding, his jaw clenched, and forehead wrinkled. “Alright” he said, and the conflict smoothed away.

“That’s it? I say: ‘blood magic’, and you say: ‘oh, okay then’?”

“You’re my Sister, a Grey Warden. We _must_ be united. To have trust that when I cover your back, you cover mine. I would do the wardens name another disservice if I blind myself to prejudice without reason. Without proof.” He stood. “You won’t have to resort to those offensive spells whilst you’re with me. Not if I can help it.”

Fay nodded. “Thank you, Alistair.” It meant a lot to her. A truce; the old burdens burning away, as she’d felt at the temple when walking through the wall of flames.

“I mean it.” He smiled, the natural, warm smile that she’d missed. “Join us? Dinner is almost done.”

Fay called Bob back from his explorations. “Come on then. Let’s see about food.”

“There you are, mi amor. I thought you were going to miss the decadent meal being prepared for us.” Zevran draped an arm around her neck and Fay saw Alistair stiffen at the elf’s close contact. “And they were worried about _me_ poisoning _you_ ” the elf whispered.

Three nugs - cleaned, gutted, and spitted – were roasting over the fire. “Fresh meat. Better than dried strips of chewiness and hardtack” Fay said to him. Bob gave a single bark, sniffed the air and bounded around in excitement. He accidently barged into Sten, and the qunari knelt down to glare at the dog. Fay held her breath. He growled - not Bob, Sten. The qunari actually growled, and Bob growled right back at him. The exchange went on for a few rounds, and then Sten patted Bob on the head. Fay sighed in relief.

“You are a warrior worthy of respect” he said to the dog. Bob’s tongue lolled from his mouth and he went back to leaping about in anticipation of food.

“Well, that’s new” Duran said and distractedly teased at the tangles in his beard.

“I admit, I’ve not seen a qunari do that before, but their customs can appear odd to us I suppose.” Sten heard her and fixed her with his stony gaze. The Iron Bull’s hearing had been acute, but Fay had always thought that was just because he was a spy.

“You speak as though you know my people.”

“Well, not really. I only met one. A Ben-Hassrath. He had bloody huge horns… A mercenary.”

Sten sneered. “Tal-Vashoth. A traitor to the Qun.”

“Oh, he’d kick your ass if he heard you call him that.” Fay chuckled. She couldn’t help herself. “Then afterwards, he’d probably say: ‘Taarsidath-an halsaam’.” Sten choked, coughed, turned a fascinating hue of red, and strode away. Bah, he deserved it, she thought. This qunari is no fun.

“What does that even mean?” Alistair asked.

“Loosely translated: I will bring myself sexual pleasure by thinking about this later."

“Maker’s breath. I wish I hadn’t asked.”

Fay shrugged. “He’d often say it after a fight that he deemed _satisfying_. I think blood and beheadings got him off. Each to their own.” She wiggled her eyebrows at Zevran, his arm still wrapped around her neck. “You two would have got on like a house on fire.”

“Blood may be one of my many kinks, dear warden,” he winked at her, and she groaned at the recollection of what she’d said that drunken evening at the inn. “But decapitation, not so much.”

Alistair stuck his fingers in his ears. “I _really_ don’t want to know any more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gary Jules - Mad World.


	23. Chapter 23

Kinloch Hold’s central keep was bounded by pointed spires, narrow bridges, and arched walkways. It was a leviathan breaching out of Lake Calenhad’s ink black waters, sinuous body fusing with the island to create a singular entity. Having never seen Ferelden’s Circle of Magi before, Fay had envisioned a compound of dormitories and barracks surrounding a steepled chantry. Rustic timbers and stone blocks - functional and ordinary. But what she saw was a forbidding tower, five-storeys high, with smooth walls and no windows. _How many petrified children have buried their heads into a sodden pillow inside that prison?_

The road to the circle’s docks spurred off from The Imperial Highway and down a steep incline. At the bottom, where the ground levelled out again, was an inn. The sign hanging over the door rattled in the wind, its chains stiff from rust. On it was painted a frothing tankard of ale, and the peeling letters below read: ‘The Spoiled Princess’. A sullen templar was keeping watch over the weather-beaten dinghy tied to the pier. If that was the only transport over to the tower, they weren’t all going to fit. How did Jowan escape? Had he swum all that way to the shore? Fay didn’t like to think what could be at the bottom of the lake.

Passing trade was irregular, and the innkeeper was eager to rent out his rooms for a discounted rate. Heavier packs of camping equipment were unshouldered and stowed away, and Duran suggested that half the group stayed behind with their belongings.

“I don’t think five of us…” Bob woofed. “… six of us are needed for this” he said.

“The mages are probably jumpy enough already, being locked up in there” Fay agreed.

They left Duran, Sten, and Bob at the inn. The templar, who hadn’t budged from his post, gave Fay a bored look as she walked over.

“Good afternoon, Ser-?”

“Ser Carroll. I don’t care who you are, clear off.”

Fay put her hands on her hips. “We must speak with the First Enchanter, and I’m not going anywhere until we do.”

“Make yourselves comfy. Under Knight-Commander Greagoir’s orders, no-one is to enter the circle” Ser Carroll told her. “ _No-one_. That clear? Good.”

“We’re Grey Wardens” Alistair insisted. “There are treaties, which- “

“Grey Wardens huh? And I’m the queen of Antiva.”

“No, we really are” Alistair said.

“Go on then” the templar replied. “Prove it.”

“W-what?” Alistair stuttered. He looked at Fay, jerked his thumb at the templar, and shook his head.

“You heard me. Prove it. Kill some darkspawn or something.”

“There aren’t any darkspawn here” Fay said running a hand over her face.

“Good to know, I guess.” Ser Carroll waited, cocking his head at her expectantly. _Oh, I’ve had enough of this._

Fay launched herself forwards and jabbed a finger against the templar’s chest plate. She was rewarded with a flinch, though he still held his ground. “Be glad there isn’t, Ser Carroll, because I’d happily let them to drag you away and do whatever they please with you. They don’t always kill their victims quickly.” She stretched up on her toes and leant close enough to whisper: “Sometimes they eat people, did you know that? They don’t kill those ones, poor souls. No, darkspawn like to hear their screams.” Dropping back onto her heels Fay gave him an innocent smile.

The templar’s adam’s apple bobbed up and down, and he wetted his lips. “I… look here, I…”

“I was perfectly willing to have a civil conversation, but you, Ser Carroll, decided to test my patience. I’ll give you a hint: it’s in short supply today. Aren’t you lucky?” Beside her, Fay heard Alistair choke back laughter. “We are Grey Wardens, and we have business at the tower. Now, you have two options. And consider, before you answer, the friendly advice I just gave you about my current mood.” Clearly not used to being called out on his bullshit, the templar gave a dazed nod. “You could say yes, and we put this unfortunate incident behind us. Or, you can continue to be a prickly thorn in my arse and I let my friend here” she tilted her head back to nod at Zevran “cut your balls off to make me feel better. What do you say?”

“I… I say the Knight-Commander can deal with you.”

“Lovely.” Her smile widened. “Come on then lads, we have a royal escort.”

The boat trip was made in silence, which suited Fay fine. She was worrying about Cullen. Again. Before she’d gone with Zevran to find the Urn, Fay had toyed with the idea of sending a letter to the circle. An anonymous warning. But what could she have written? She didn’t know specifics - it was too difficult for future Cullen to talk about. Blood magic had been the cause, but the trigger? The more she’d thought about it objectively, the more it seemed like a bad idea.

Fay’s hands were tied; she couldn’t affect Cullen’s destiny, just as she couldn’t save Cailan or Duncan at Ostagar. If Cullen didn’t go to Kirkwall, if he didn’t stand by Hawke’s side to defeat Meredith, and if he didn’t become the leader of the Inquisition’s forces, there would be one less safeguard for the future. There was nothing she’d wanted more than to try and help those she loved, to make things better. Not stand on the sidelines and watch it unfold. _“You would save them all, if you could.”_ Flemeth was right, some things were absolute - their links could not be broken.

When they were alongside the dock on the island’s shore, Ser Carroll put down the oars and clambered out to tie the boat off. Although the templar had been pig-headed, he offered a gauntleted hand to Fay and pulled her safely to solid land. She thanked him, and he gave a curt nod.

After a couple of stilted steps an arm curled around her waist. “It’ll soon pass. It’s the rocking and swaying that does it” Alistair said. Fay was gratefully for the support as the quivering lessened.

“Nothing wrong with _rocking_ and _swaying_ ” Zevran piped up. “I’m sure, dear warden, you’d rather have your legs wobbling for different reasons.”

“Is he always like this?”

Fay chuckled at how mortified Alistair sounded. “Yes, he is.”

The templars at the doors made no move to stop them as they entered. People getting out was their cause for concern, not people going in. There weren’t any mages in the foyer, but there was a large gathering of templars. A cursory glance didn’t reveal Cullen amongst them. A stench of blood and sweat permeated the air, as did another scent she recognized all too well. It was cloying and metallic, mixed with the lingering smell of battle: lyrium. Some men were injured, laid out on blankets on the floor in one corner of the hall. Fay’s consciousness seemed to divide, split in two, and part of her was falling. She covered her mouth.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” The templar addressing them was older than his associates. His coppery-brown sideburns and chinstrap beard were peppered with silver hairs.

Fay dropped her hand and did her utmost to hide her dismay. “Knight-Commander Greagoir?”

“Yes” came a clipped confirmation.

“We’re Grey Wardens” Alistair clarified. “We came here to err… We were seeking aid.” He wisely decided to keep the demon problem they had of their own a secret.

“Grey Wardens, or not, I gave explicit instructions…”

“Ser Carroll did not want to bring us here” Fay said. She didn’t think it fair to get the templar into trouble with his superior. “I made him.”

“You made-?” The Knight-Commander pinched the bridge of his nose, but let that particular matter drop.  “As you can plainly see, we are in no fit state to offer any help against the darkspawn.”

Alistair glanced around the room. “What in the Maker’s name has been going on?”

“This doesn’t concern you, but…” Greagoir sighed. “The circle is no longer under the templars’ control. Every floor has been overrun by demons and abominations. Most of my men are dead.” He waved to the set of doors at the rear of the hall. “I had the doors barred, and now we wait for the Divine to answer my missive.”

Fay felt sick. “An exalted march? You’ve asked the Divine to send templars to purge the circle?!” _Coward._

“Fay, if the circle is lost then it is what the Knight-Commander must do.”

“No!” Cullen was in there, he had to be, and he’d been left to die by his own Knight-Commander. Trapped with demons and abominations, and the mages – mages they needed. If she still had the mark it would be just about set to explode with her sudden resentment; a pity too, it would’ve been invaluable against demons. Cullen was _her_ commander, and all those innocents… This wasn’t how it was going to end today. Zevran said Fay’s name softly, but she ignored him. “There has to be people still alive. I refuse to think all the mages sided with whoever started this.”

“Even if they didn’t, they’re dead now or possessed.” Greagoir justified.

“You don’t know that.”

“And neither do you” he shot back. The templars in the foyer were watching their argument unfold, but Fay didn’t care what they thought about her. Maybe this was what they needed to hear: common sense instead of chantry rhetoric.

“Mages are not defenceless” Fay snapped. “And neither are templars. Some will have survived, and you’ve given up on them.”

“My men were being slaughtered!”

“I am sorry for that, truly. But this isn’t just about _your_ men. Templars swear an oath to protect people from the ‘evils of magic’. That, whether you like it or not, includes protecting mages from other mages. Not running away, not locking the door so they can’t escape. The people in that tower - mages and templars - men, women, and children, have been given a death sentence yet you can’t verify that they’re lost.”

The Knight-Commander was enraged. “And what would you have done? Opened the doors and let abominations take the rest?”

“I would not have left them in the first place. As that can’t be changed now, I will go and see for myself” she said.

He opened his mouth, snapped it shut, and snorted at her in contempt. Fay held his murderous gaze and knew she’d overstepped the line, but she wouldn’t retract her criticism. How could they let this stand? “So be it.”

“I- pardon?”

“You want to see the monstrosities, be my guest.” Knight-Commander Greagoir nodded to the templars by the doors and they lifted the bars. Stone graunched as they pushed the doors open. The corridor beyond was empty. “The only thing that will ever make me open these doors again is if the First Enchanter himself vouches that you’re free from possession.” The aging man turned away. As the doors rumbled shut, Fay heard him say: “Farewell, Grey Wardens.” She didn’t dare look at Alistair and Zevran.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not graphic, but implied rape in this chapter (linked to part one of the series).

He looked helplessly to Wynne, hoping that she might have a plan.  She was exactly how he pictured his grandmother would be, if he had one. Did he have one? Out there, somewhere? There was a sister – half-sister – Alistair hadn’t known about until Duncan told him before… Before Ostagar. And that meant more relatives scattered about Thedas, though it didn’t feel right somehow. He was a Grey Warden, he couldn’t have a family of his own, and sometimes Alistair wondered what it would’ve been like. If things had turned out differently. Sloth used this fanciful notion against him, and he’d been easily fooled.

Wynne, experienced with dealing with demons and the fade, was the first to sever the demon’s influence and break free. By the flash in her eyes, and the way her mouth twisted to one side as if chewing on something nasty, Alistair could tell the mage was miffed that Sloth gained any hold over her in the first place. Wynne, with some spell he would doubtless not comprehend, had found Alistair in the fade. She snapped him out of the demon’s trance and then they hunted down the others. Well, Wynne did. He just followed. They came across Zevran first, who’d been in a baffling predicament involving a rack and some elven men with whips.

Fay, however, was not under Sloth’s control. Wynne informed them of a second demon present, and it was this demon that had taken Fay: Despair. It wasn’t interested in tempting her with niceties, the Despair demon wanted to feed off her distress. Even Wynne admitted that it was unheard of for anything other than lesser demons to share the same domain in the fade. 

Wynne’s shoulders drooped. “I can’t do anything to stop this” she said.

Alistair gawked at her. “What do you mean you can’t do anything? You’re a mage!”

“It is beyond my skills. I have searched, but the memories used to snare her…” The wrinkles on her forehead deepen and she lets out a preoccupied hum as if listening to someone else.

“I don’t get it.”

Wynne’s focus shifts back to him. “The spirits are restless. There are no echoes of these memories in the fade. They cannot advise me, so I am unsure what to do.”

Alistair peered at the matronly woman with her grey hair in a tidy bun and robe sleeves rolled up to her elbows. A ‘normal’ mage doesn’t have a connection to spirits in the manner she’s eluding to. He supposed it wasn’t his business; he was a Grey Warden, not a templar. He turned his attention to Fay, his Sister and… friend? She was on her knees, staring at the ground. Expressionless. Alistair couldn’t see what she was going through but being in Despair’s grasp told him enough. He would not leave her like this.

“No echoes?” He tried to recall all he knew about the subject, which was limited. Spirits copied the waking world because they lacked the creativity and mortal experiences to make their own. “You’re telling me that Fay’s memories are real, but they don’t exist?”

“I suppose I am.”

 _Oh._ It clicks, and he felt wretched. _I know I said I bought her story, and I did, partially. Part of me thought it was how she coped with… the uncanny things she knows. Delusions. Visions perhaps. Andraste’s flaming knickers._ Zevran looked equally grave at hearing Wynne’s information.

Alistair began to think aloud. “Our dreams, or whatever they were seeing as we’re not awake, had something of substance - a reflection - that they were built from.”

“In essence” Wynne verified. “The ties are stable enough that such scenes can be interacted with.”

“Yet Fay doesn’t hear us or see us, and her ‘scene’ isn’t visible because those ties aren’t there. If whatever Despair is making play out in her head can’t be seen, and we can’t interact with her like you did with me, is there a way of sending one of us in as part of it, or…?” He shook his head and let out a groan. He couldn’t think of anything, he wasn’t a mage- he didn’t have a clue what was or wasn’t possible.

“That’s actually not a bad idea” Wynne said. She studied him for a moment and smiled.

Alistair laughed. “It’s my idea, of course it’s a bad idea.”

“I have to agree; Fay leads for a reason. No offence, of course” Zevran apologized.

“None taken.” What could he say, it was true.

“You can’t enter as yourself, that’s clear, but you could take the place of an actor as it were. Alter the script from within as a friendly voice.” Wynne seemed excited, her aura revitalizing as she gathered energy to cast. Alistair’s stomach lurched. _Now you’ve done it, well done, Alistair._

“Me?!”

“It was your idea.”

Alistair gaped at Wynne like a simpleton. “I was rambling, I didn’t know what-”

“And you hit upon the only thing that may work.”

“You’re serious.”

Wynne nodded. “I am. Surely you know some of your fellow Grey Warden’s past? These memories? It could be invaluable.”

He owed it to Fay to try. “I- I guess.”

“You just need to convince her to see through the demon’s lies. To fight. Are you ready?”

 _Maker’s breath._ “Yes” he lied.

Wynne elegantly twirled her staff, tracing a complicated pattern in the air, and pointed the tip at him. There was blue beam of light, and Alistair heard an unidentified voice say: _“There is a purity of faith within. He will succeed”_ as he scrunched his eyes shut. Before he could ask what that was about, he felt… incomplete. A mote of dust carried on the wind. Sounds rushed to his ears - popping, fizzling, and a constant loud grumble. Alistair was aware of ground beneath his feet again and he cautiously opened his eyes. A stairway, and below him were flames.

The house was strange. There was a white box on the wall with – he craned his head – runes? Glowing numbers and symbols, and miniscule pressure plates. A door stood open to a washroom with a large tub of white glossy material, a basin attached to the wall with metal tubes and twiddly tops, bottles and brushes on the sill of a window, and a chair with a wooden lid. A muffled cry drew him towards a different door on the landing and he pushed it open as the fire spread to top of the stairs. Fay – his Fay, and an older version of her cuddling a child on the bed as the room filled with smoke.

“Fay.” Her name choked him, the realization of what this was tearing at his heart. The child was a girl, her daughter. This was how they died. He prayed to the Maker that the smoke had got to them long before the flames did. The girl was so young, and Fay… she hadn’t been able to get them out. To die like that was one thing, but to live through that death?

Fay, his Fay, turned to him. “Andrew?” She looked to the bed, to herself and her daughter, and back to Alistair with an agony of someone utterly broken.

“Fay, it’s me. Alistair” he tried to say, but Fay had dropped to her knees and was sobbing. He crouched in front of her. “Fay, I’m not Andrew” _whoever that was._ “It’s Alistair. Remember the circle, the demon-”

“Get out” she hiccupped, pushing him away. Alistair put his hands out to brace himself and landed on his backside. “You bastard! You… weren’t… here. You… don’t get… to see this.”

A wicked laugh and then someone mocking him. Despair. _I would ask how your being here came to be, but it matters not. Witness your friend’s destruction and know that she is already lost._

“We’ll see about that” he said and got to his feet. Fay had scooted from Alistair to huddle in a corner, her arms wrapped around her knees. She wouldn’t look at him despite his reassurances.  In the glass of the large window, in the room he assumed was Fay’s bed chamber, Alistair saw himself. A blond man with a different face stared back. _Wynne said I wasn’t going to be me, but that’s unsettling._ The fire’s golden glow swelled through rolling grey smog. The burning room reorganized, morphed, and the reflection was gone.

Alistair blinked. The dim tunnel was filled with armed men wearing outlandish garb. He counted maybe a dozen, a mixed unit of soldiers, rogues, and mages. Some had robes of cream and white silk, and hooded face masks. The silverite skulls had dramatic fixings on the brow that Alistair thought resembled dragon horns. The warriors’ bascinet visors had a pointed spike – no tangible purpose aside from intimidation - and their black armour was constructed from overlapping plates of iron treated with obsidian. A few muttered words between the men made his ears prick. Tevinter? What had Fay called them- Venatori? These must be the agents of Corypheus she had spoken of.

He wandered through the caves branching out under the earth. It seemed formed by natural erosion and not mining. Alistair came to a cave opening and halted. Nothing could have prepared him for what was taking place on the dank stone floor. He was inexperienced, yet he wasn’t unaware of the ways of the world. That, though, that… was not consensual. He tasted bile, and he was livid.

“Fay.”  She jolted at Alistair’s voice, his Fay, and before she decided to run, or attack, he grabbed her wrist. He felt awful – ashamed, even - for doing it, but he had to get her to talk to him somehow. Alistair also needed to get out of the cave, away from what the Tevinter was doing in this horrific memory.

“Don’t fucking dare, vint!” Fay’s aura curdled, her expression wild, and red energy coated her skin. _She’s going to kill me. Vint? Maker’s breath._ Fay swung a punch at him, which Alistair dodged.  

 _How amusing,_ Despair taunted, _how delicious this pain is. Are you having fun yet? I know I am._

Alistair growled at the demon and dragged Fay along the tunnel. “Fay, please, listen to me!” he pleaded.

She twisted in his grip, a deadly glint in her eye. “Listen?! I will never listen to another-”

“Hawke” he said. If his name didn’t get through to her, what would? Fay paused, her face confused.

“Hawke?”

Alistair nodded. “Remember his name. He’s real, and so am I. I’m not whatever you’re seeing me as, this is an illusion.”

Wrong choice of words. “An illusion? I lived this you sick fuck. This was real!” Energy swarmed, angry as stirred hornets. Alistair wasn’t certain he could silence her if it came to it. _I don’t want to render her powerless, this is dreadful enough._ It wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but he let go of her wrist.

“I’m not your enemy, Fay. The circle. Don’t you remember the circle?” he asked desperately. “Think about what you just said: ‘was’ real. What you’re seeing, this, it was before, or in the future… Maker’s breath, I don’t know, but right now we’re in the Circle of Magi.”

“Don’t think you can trick me” she warned, but he felt the pulsing of her energy splutter and dim.

“I’m not! Fay, just think” he urged, encouraged by her hesitation. “Zevran was with us, and Wynne. We confronted a demon in the tower, and -”

“Alistair?” Fay touched his cheek, a timid brush of her fingers, and he saw a blue spark. Magic? “You’re here? It’s you. Oh my god, I nearly- I…” She saw him. Not Andrew, or a man who’d want to do unforgivable acts, but _him_. Alistair. It shouldn’t have been possible, should it? Regardless, he was relieved.

Alistair hugged Fay close, her tears rolling down his neck as she pressed into him for comfort. “It’s alright. We’ll get out of this” he said.

 _I do not think so,_ Despair heckled, _not when there is still so much for me to feast on. Hmmm,_ it considered, _what about this? Your kind are all so weak. Frail._

Fay wiped at her eyes and the area, the memory, changed again. “Oh” she whispered.

They were on some rocky plains, at the edge of a battlefield. Bodies, burnt and blood-soaked, were scattered on the ground. Scruffy armour, no properly forged blades, so not professionals: bandits, Alistair deduced. Fire mines exploded, a woman with dark hair gave a disgruntled “urgh” as she bashed at a bandit with her shield. Fay fought at her side, with a mace and dented shield of her own.

“The exalted plains” His Fay said to him. “After Wisdom. I-I couldn’t stop her death. And then Hawke, the bandits attacked us and…”

Alistair took her hand and she squeezed it in unspoken thanks. He watched the skirmish with interest. “Who are they?”

“Varric is the dwarf taking out the archers with Hawke, and Dorian is the one trying to keep barriers on us.” Fay pointed to the female warrior. “She’s the Seeker, Cassandra.” That accounted for the woman’s prowess, Alistair thought. He was a little envious, she would best him in a dual without breaking a sweat.

The moustached man cast another barrier over the group, leaning against his staff. “Dorian’s attire,” Alistair said “it’s not quite the same, but…”

“Yes, he’s from Tevinter. He’s nothing like them. He is – was – my friend. A brother.” A strange group, though their group also had its share of unlikely members. A qunari, a dwarf, an elven assassin, a witch…

“And that’s Hawke?” The man had a certain grace as he slashed with his staff blade and cast spells. He read his opponents well and what he lacked in finesse, he made up for with vigour.

_“Archers eliminated” Hawke yelled._

_A crossbow bolt thudded into the chest of a bandit Fay hadn’t been able to take down within the first few blows. She was exhausted- all her companions were. Fay spat at the ground and took note of how many foes were left for them to deal with. A bandit snuck up on Hawke, and Fay shouted a warning. Hawke didn’t move in time, and she launched herself to take down his assailant with her_ _shield._

Alistair hadn’t seen Fay vent rage with violence before.

“I was too late,” she said hoarsely, “and he wouldn’t get the chance to tell me how he felt about me.” She clutched at her neck and closed her eyes. “I can’t” she sobbed, “I can’t watch this.”

Despair was getting what it wanted. Alistair couldn’t let the demon take any more from her. “But he didn’t die. You saved him.”

“It was my fault. The blood… my fault.” Fay shuddered. “Hawke… The blood… I can’t-”

“Think” Alistair reminded her. “It wasn’t your fault, and he didn’t die. You know this, Fay. Think.”

Alistair watched what had come next. _Blood magic. She used blood magic to save him._

“You’re afraid of me, aren’t you?”

Alistair saw her wrestling with her anguish. He’d sensed no pact or demon summoning to bargain for Hawke’s life. Fay was different- she was a parent, a woman with a kind heart, a person with the same flaws as anyone else, but there wasn’t evil intent to her actions. She loved, she laughed – sometimes she even laughed with him. He had missed that when she was gone. “I’m not afraid of you” he promised, “I care about you a great deal. Remember who you are. Have faith in that.”

Alistair hadn’t expected Fay to kiss him, and it wasn’t a passionate kiss, just a soft graze of her lips that was over quickly. But he’d seen her vulnerabilities, a brief glimpse at the traumas she’d endured. People don’t always agree with each other, do they? Family bicker, yet they stand together.

“Thank you, Alistair. I’ve always cared about you too, just not-” _Not the same as Hawke._

“I understand.” Although saddened, he smiled. He did understand.

“Where are you going?”

“What?” He looked down at himself, a tingling spreading from his feet to the waist. Blue light, more magic? “Wait- no.” Alistair panicked. Wynne’s spell must be fading. “Please Fay, don’t let Despair win. Where there’s pain, there’s hope. And love, and friendship. Come back to us.”

He was blinded, floating, and Wynne looked down at him with concern.

“How are you feeling, young man?”

Alistair rubbed at his temples. “Like I got stampeded by a herd of druffalo. Guess I collapsed, huh?”

Zevran moved to help him and Alistair waved him away. “Fay, is she alright?”

“Alas, our dear warden is still-” the elf started, but Fay interrupted him.

“I’m here. Thanks to Alistair, and you too of course, Wynne. Thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome” Wynne said, though the mage sounded bothered about the peculiarities of Fay’s memories in the fade. There were going to be questions later.

Fay’s expression hardened. “Let’s teach these two a lesson, shall we?”

Alistair turned to see Sloth and Despair, the demons taking on the form of arcane horrors. Wynne prepared a barrier, Zevran had a smoke bomb from Maker knows where – though in the fade, anything went. Alistair drew his sword.

_‘I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the fade’._

“I don’t know about you,” he said, “but I’ve seen as much of this place as I can stomach.”


End file.
